All too soon it's home again.

We're home! The run from Ely today was just a milk run. We broke camp at 7:00 a.m. (it would have been sooner but I got into an RV discussion with the camper next door) and, after a quick stop for petrol, headed for the wilds of the Great Basin and that storied "Loneliest Road in America."

First thing we did was plug in our very last book on tape and sit back for twelve disks full of what appeared to be a very well written murder mystery. Alas it was not to be as the disks had been poorly recorded and spent much time bleeping out every third word or so. Disappointed, we popped in some of our Italian music and just enjoyed the scenery, each other, and, thanks to the Italian tunes, much thoughts of past trips to Italy

Today was one of the finest trips across central Nevada that we can remember. The sky was so blue that it hurt your eyes even with sun glasses. Here and there wild horses roamed close to the highway. The road was so sparsely traveled today that it was an unusual occasion when someone passed us -- well except for the chap in the jeep 4x4 who was going so slow that we had to pass HIM, and that on a hill no less. We figured he was probably a geologist and was trying to memorize the road-cut strata as he drove.

One thing about Nevada, if you like geology it's all there to see. I don't think it's quite as interesting as what we so recently enjoyed on the Colorado Plateau, but with the sparse vegetation, you don't have any trouble finding it.

We didn't do much stopping today so I don't have many photos. However, at lunchtime we stopped at the Rock Creek Butterfield Stagecoach station and I snapped the accompanying photos. Of course there's not much left of the stations but low walls of igneous rock. Any wood that might have been found has long ago been burned up in one wild fire or another.

Not being content with just surveying the surrounding sagebrush-covered playa from the safety of the pull-out. I scooted under the barbed wire and went in search of something to photograph. Interestingly enough, I ran across a lone stone wall that ran for perhaps a hundred feet north to south and didn't appear to have any usefulness at all. Now I know that in times past nearby ranchers would mine the old stations for rock, so maybe the wall had once been an enclosure, but it certainly was odd to see it sitting there at least three or four hundred feet north of the Butterfield Station.

I scanned the hills surrounding the stage station. Wow! How I would love to climb those rugged hills and peer from behind a boulder while pretending to be some lone native American keeping watch on the stage company's employees. It looked to me that the strategic position was definitely those hills and maybe, just maybe, those station keepers had to keep a sharp eye on them as well.

After stopping at the Carson post office and newspaper office to pick up our accumulated mail and papers, we dropped by the local RV park and pumped the holding tanks for the final time. I'm getting so good at this routine that in less than ten minutes we were on our way again.

We arrived home about 2:30 p.m. and set about unpacking all the goodies in the RV before we ran totally out of energy. Tomorrow, we'll finish up the rest and then the only thing left to do is find the fiberglass expert who's been recommended to us so I can see about fixing the damage that some unfriendly cottonwood tree in Sedona inflicted on the upper left corner of the cabover when I innocently passed by just minding my own business.

So, that's all for now. We're not totally sure how soon we'll hitting the road again because there's a million things to do at the ol' homestead this summer. And, come fall, we're probably going to be called back to work for the legislature for six or eight months during the upcoming session. Still, I can tell you where my thoughts are going to be: out there on the open road. So ultimately, we'll be right back here with more adventures. So stay tuned.

Bye, y'all.

Zion and the Steptoe Valley

Kanab, Utah, turned out to be a very pleasant place to park for the night. Nothing special, but a very quiet, well ordered park with well mannered neighbors. The space was easy to back into. The utilities easy were easy to access. And we were parked far enough away from the main highway where we didn't hear much in the way of traffic noise all night. With yet another day dawning clear and bright on the high desert, we pulled up stakes on Wednesday morning and headed north and west toward home. Pausing only to grab a bit of grocery shopping we were soon rolling out of town. We thought we would probably be able to reach Ely, Nevada, by nightfall. That's what we thought.

As is turned out, we made it all the way from Kanab, Utah, to Springdale, Utah on the west side of Zion National Park, a distance of perhaps sixty, maybe seventy miles.

Now that's nowhere near the fewest miles we've every traveled in one day. That distinction goes to a tent-camping vacation a couple of decades ago when we traveled exactly fourteen miles up the California coast in an eight hour period. Still it was somewhat surprising when I sat down this evening to bring this blog up to date and discovered how little miles we'd traveled yesterday.

Maybe you can guess the reason. If not, I'll tell you. It was due to the absolute jaw-dropping magnificence of Zion National Park. Neither one of us had ever been to Zion and the place just completely mesmerized us. Between our constant stopping to take photos and the time we spent at the visitor center and park museum, we simply exhausted our entire travel day. Discretion always being the better part of valor, we soon decided that the RV park in Springdale and a cocktail as the sun went down was just what the travel Gods had in mind.

The RV folks gave us a site right down by the Virgin River where we could hear the water cascading by as we went about our camp duties. The site was largely level and dry and in short minutes we were all set up and enjoying our vodka and cranberry juice "picker-upper" in our lounge chairs. In the background, above the river, the jagged sedimentary cliffs of Zion glowed with the rosy hew of a setting sun. We've never before seen such expressive geology as we encountered in Zion. The towering rocks stuck us as so ancient and humbling that we were moved to seek out a book on the park's geologic history.

This morning, our flirtation with Zion over (if it could ever be over) we once again loaded our gear into the trusty Ford and headed for the open highway. Our goal today (as it had been the day before) was to reach Ely, Nevada, on Highway 50. I sort of guestimated that it would be an easy run and it certainly turned out just so. Traffic was extremely light as we powered up Interstate 15 toward Cedar City. We didn't plan on stopping anywhere and hitting Ely by early afternoon appeared to be a cinch. Appeared to be.

Of course, we hadn't reckoned on running across an attraction in Cedar City called the "Frontier Homestead State Park Museum." Now, if you've been following these on the road tales for any time at all you know that our Tioga almost never passes anything with museum in the name. This time was no exception. Almost before we knew it we were jockeying the motor home into the parking lot and presenting ourselves at the entrance counter. We were about to have our day improved about 200%.

Seeing that we were about the only patrons present, a docent immediately volunteered to take us under his wing and give us about a ninety-minute guided tour of the facility. We looked at each and every exhibit, from wonderful photography, to fabulously-restored wheeled vehicles, from a fully-stocked print shop, to an authentic sheep-sheering facility, from an early-day school house, to an extensive children's hands-on exhibit, from sample weaving, to early and exotic firearms. Gee Wiz, I was in complete heaven. There was lots and lots more, but you get the idea. My favorite exhibits were the wheeled vehicles, especially an authentic "mud wagon," a sort of stripped down stage coach, that was completely restored.

As you might guess, we spent so much time in Cedar City that we were significantly behind schedule by the time we left. In fact, shortly after we left we came across a roadside rest and pulled in for our lunch. Once lunch was finished, it was perhaps 1:30 p.m. and once again we hadn't gone very far since breaking camp that morning. However this time we decided that we were simply going to make Ely or else. So we put the pedal to the metal and our eyes on the road ahead and by 5:30 p.m. we had reached our goal and were pulling up to the KOA.

I have to tell you that if you're on the the road in this part of America you will find no lovelier place to camp than the KOA at the foot of the magnificent Steptoe Valley on Highway 50 near Ely. This Valley and its surrounding mountains are take your breath away beautiful.

Tomorrow we're on the road again, headed west on Highway 50, the self-proclaimed, "Loneliest Road in American." It's a long run to Carson City, at least long for us given our penchant for stopping at the drop of a hat and sampling the local color. We'll be getting up pretty early tomorrow and with any luck will be home by sundown. Not sure when we'll be back on the road again, but there has been some talk of upgrading the RV to something newer now that we're certain that we've become addicted to this RV lifestyle. We just want to say, thanks for coming along and we hope you have a chance to get out there and try this grand adventure for yourself.

Nothing grander than the Grand Canyon

You may remember that Concetta and I decided to move south as the snow seemed to be threatening. Reversing our northerly direction, we moved south from Sedona to Prescott where we hoped to avoid the worst of the weather. The next morning we awoke to a blanket of the white stuff which, fortunately, turned out to be largely melted by the time we broke camp and headed for downtown Prescott for a little museum touring.

Since the weather continued to look threatening we decided to head west, out into the desert regions. We headed south out of Prescott, then circled around, grabbed highway 93, and landed in Kingman (photo left) where the desert skies were oh so blue and the weather warm. Our intention was to continue heading west.

However, reader Richard suggested a visit to Seligman just down the road to the east. Since the weather was so beautiful that next morning after our arrival in Kingman, we decided to take Richard's advice and fudge our decision to move west. The plus was that we'd get to travel a section of old Route 66 in the bargain. So it was Richard's fault that we ended up spending two days at the Grand Canyon.

What? Yes, the weather continued to improve and once we reached Seligman we decided that maybe we'd just keep heading east. Before we knew it, we'd reached Williams, Arizona. At Williams you could easily see that snow had been a recent visitor. Still, the skies were blue, the mountains to the north looked inviting, and we threw caution to the wind and jumped on highway 64 north toward the Grand Canyon.

My initial plan was to just skirt the south end of the park and head over to Cameron. At Cameron we could head north into Utah. We were certain that without reservations there would be no way to find a place to put the RV. That belief came from the last time we visited the Grand Canyon, our very first vacation together back in 1976. When we drove up to the gate we were stopped by a ranger who asked us if we had reservations. When we said no, he told us that the park camping spaces were sold out and we'd have to camp outside the park.

This time the ranger didn't ask if we had reservations so we just rolled right on into the park and, with a modicum of difficulty, wandered around until we came across a state-run dry-camping site called Mather. Not expecting much success, we approached the check-in window and a very pleasant ranger with the appropriate name of Angel asked, "how many nights would you like to stay?"

Well, that was a surprise. We told her just one. But once we paid our very reasonable (being seniors with a senior National Park senior pass card) fee and headed toward our camp site we saw that there were lots and lots of empty camp spots for RVs and we probably wouldn't have a problem changing our minds if we so wanted.

Let me just say, if you're coming to the Grand Canyon, or have just been thinking about coming, don't put it off. Coming in the off season is your best bet. It's cold, yes. There's still lots and lots of people, yes. Reservations are still a good idea, yes. But the experience is one of the grandest adventures you'll ever have.

As you might guess, we decided on the spot to spend a second night in the park. On a whim, we decided to inquire at the full-hookups facility known as "Trailer Village." I didn't hold out much hope, but since we had headed out for a walk and ended up walking right by the aforementioned Village, we stopped in at the office and asked if they had a spot for the next night. As it turned out, they did and we grabbed it right on the spot.

"Trailer Village" is where we'd stay the next time we come. The dry camping part of the experience is nice for its woodsy character, but the water and sewer hookups are so nice we'd just forgo the woodsy character and choose Trailer Village. They even have barbecues set up for the campers.

The next day, our RV set up in "Trailer Village," we set out for one of the very best days we've ever spent in a national park. We went on a ranger walk to discuss geology. We explored the visitor center and book store. We rode the absolutely fantastic bus system to all areas of the park, getting out whenever we wanted to, and visited many of the overlook areas where the scenery will just knock your socks off.

We took tons of photos which, at one point, resulted in Mr. Klutz here coming out second best in a confrontation with an ancient juniper tree. I was tip-toeing around the edge of the canyon, getting as close as possible to the cliff, when I turned smack dab into a low-hanging branch. This resulted in the sharp edge of the branch slicing across my ear and instantly giving me the look of a pirate who came out second best in a sword fight.

For the rest of the morning I had to hold a thoroughly blood-soaked handkerchief to my ear while I dashed from rest room to rest room to launder the handkerchief. I'm sure anyone who walked by me found themselves wondering if a slasher was wandering the park. We even tried putting snow on the cut to stem the flow of blood which worked to an extent but certainly felt weird. By the afternoon my blood had finally clotted and I was able to just occasionally dab the cut. Ever since we started taking the 81mg aspirin daily, as seniors are recommended to do, my blood flows like, well, water whenever I cut myself.

As you might have guessed when no blog entries showed up for several days, we've been unable to find any working WiFi, either at the RV park in Kingman, nor at the two parks in Grand Canyon Park. This morning we're sitting at a very nice RV park in Knabe, Utah. When we exited Grand Canyon Park we drove highway 64 east to Cameron, Arizon, then turned north on Highway 89 toward Utah.

Wow! What a drive! Although Highway 89 is neat for all the great geology you get to see along the way, taking Highway 89A between Bitter Springs and Knabe was the genius stroke. This highway takes you along a geologic feature known as the "Crimson Cliffs." This ruggedly beautiful part of Arizona is just absolutely wonderful. It's like something out of a technicolor TV western. The highway is little traveled, so be prepared. But if you want to see raw western beauty, you have to drive this road.

Once you leave the desert on Highway 89A you begin a climb into the forest that abuts the northern rim of the Grand Canyon, facilities for which are closed this time of year. Still, the view of the desert below from the snaking highway is to die for. This section of road certainly begs a return trip someday when the northern rim is open.

So, here we are in Utah. We're not exactly sure in which direction we're headed (surprise, surprise), but we'll think of something. I'll try and add photos for this blog come nightfall. Right now I've got to turn this computer off and get about my chores. Until we meet again, as Rick Steves would say, keep on travelin'.

SNOW in the highlands of Prescott

Well, our efforts to avoid the impending snow storm by dropping south from Sedona to Prescott came to nothing. Most of the night we got pelted with rain and when the temperature dropped the rain turned to snow. We awakened this morning to a blanket of white as far as the eye could see. I wish I had taken a photo about five in the morning when I peeped out the rear window, but I preferred to stay huddled under the covers. By the time we did roust ourselves out around 7:00ish the snow in all but the shady sections was rapidly melting. When I had finished breakfast and ventured outside most of the snow had gone. Still, it was darn cold and my fingers were pretty frozen by the time I'd unhooked and stowed all the equipment for our departure.

Our chosen route, south on route 89, turned out to be a CLIMB into the mountains, over a pass, and then a curvy, narrow road towards Wickenburg. At some points I was piloting our rig at 20 to 25 miles an hour and wishing I could go even more slowly. Let me tell you, that road from Prescott to the desert flats near Wickenburg is not for the faint of heart, especially when the road is wet or snow-covered. The view from the road to the valley floor is even more stunning than the twisting drive along the Amalfi Coast in Italy.

For most of the rest of the day it rained off and on and never warmed up enough to make being outside pleasant. When we reached Highway 71 near Congress, Arizona, we jogged to the southwest, then caught route 93 north toward Kingman. Not that we had any reason to go to Kingman, but I decided that if the weather is going to continue to be nasty we might as well move toward our rendezvous in Mesquite where we have some ex-Carson City-ites who now live there we intend to visit.

The upshot of today's journey is that we didn't stop anywhere, see anything noteworthy, or venture out of the motor home for any reason. Hopefully, tomorrow we'll be able to do some exploring around Kingman if the weather warms up a bit. I heard from the KOA guy, Mark, here in Kingman that the next two days are supposed to be warmer. Richard has suggested Seligman on old Route 66 and that sounds like fun. Let's hope the weather cooperates.

It's Museum Day in Prescott, Arizona

Even though the sun barely peeked through the overcast today in downtown Prescott, we didn't care. We had booked an extra night here at the Point of Rocks RV camp in Prescott and today we had the whole day to fritter away on fun stuff. Unlike most people, fun stuff to the Happy Wanderers is most often comprised of antiques hunting, book store prowling, or historic museum wandering. Even though we ran across ample examples of the two former examples, today we intended to spend at least the first half of the day in the Sharlot Hall Museum just down the street from the court house in central Prescott.

Sharlot Hall was a giant in the annals of Arizona history. Here's a bit of her biography courtesy of the web site www.sharlot.org: "Sharlot Hall Museum is named after its founder, Sharlot Mabridth Hall (1870-1943), who became well known as a poet, activist, politician, and Arizona’s first territorial historian. Sharlot Hall was one of the West’s most remarkable women. As early as 1907, Ms. Hall saw the need to save Arizona's history and planned to develop a museum. She began to collect both Native American and pioneer material. In 1927, she began restoring the first Territorial Governor’s residence and offices and moved her extensive collection of artifacts and documents opening it as a museum in 1928."

Concetta and I thought that the museum in total was one of the finest we've yet visited. Everything from the John C. Fremont house, used when he was the (5th) territorial governor, to a frontier print shop, a vintage school house, and a log cabin used by the first territorial Governor, John Noble Goodwin. There's a new building for changing exhibits and comes complete with a very nice movie theater. There's a transportation museum where we got to see some wonderful examples of wooden wheeled bicycles, a stagecoach and other horse-drawn vehicles, as well as a 1920s-era Star automobile owned by Sharlot Hall. I was especially interested in the Star since my mom learned to drive in a Star back in the 1940s.

Also on the property was a very nice 19th century Victorian cottage once owned by one of the richest families in Arizona. The cottage now plays host to a very fine gift shop where you can buy anything from books on the history of the area to a myriad of handmade craft items

The docents at the museum proved to be some of the most knowledgeable and helpful we've encountered on our travels. In fact, they enthusiastically shepherded us from room to room, explaining each and every item on display and answering all of our questions.

Consequently, the morning hours flew by swiftly and before we knew it we'd run well past the lunch hour. Making our escape, we headed back for the RV, parked ever so patiently in a shopping mall parking lot about six blocks away. Then, while Concetta set up our lunch I dashed over to Albertson market and grabbed a few items for our pantry. Then, lunch over, we spent an hour or so driving some of the roads to the west of Prescott just to see the country. It's very, very pretty here and I suspect a tad more pleasant living here than at the lower elevations found in Phoenix and Tuscon. Prescott is just a little higher in elevation than our Carson City altitude of 4,700 feet. Prescott, as I learned today, lies at approximately 5,500 feet.

So now, we're kicking back, enjoying a cocktail, and catching up on the news of the day. Coach is all set up, showers are out of the way, and we're looking forward to dinner in about an hour. I discovered yesterday, at the suggestion of the camp host here at Point of Rocks, that I can pick up television signals in the RV if we have a wind-up antenna. Well, now, I always knew I had one of those, but since I hadn't really received any formal instructions from the previous owner about how to operate it, I'd been content to just ignore it. Of course, the camp host was rather surprised to hear I'd never tried using it and told me to just crank it up, connect the cable, tell the TV to run through the channel search routine, and presto, you're in business, she said.

Naturally, I doubted it would be that easy. But, hey, she was right. All last evening we watched TV via our rooftop antenna and the picture was just as crystal-clear as had we been connected to cable TV. Boy was I surprised. Now, all I have to do is remember to crank the dang thing down again before I drive anywhere.

Sedona, Jerome, and on to Prescott, Arizona

Well, you know what they say about best laid plans, sometimes they never come to fruition. This morning the Arizona weather girl seemed confident that snow was coming to the Arizona highlands. Places like Sedona where we were parked and, more importantly, Flagstaff, where we intended to camp next were definitely, she said, going to get some snow. Now we haven't minded the cooler temperatures we've encountered since we headed north from Carefree, but snow is a different story. I have no idea how this RV is going to react to the white stuff. So, deciding to be better safe than sorry, we turned west this morning out of Sedona instead of continuing north. Instead of Flagstaff we set our course for Prescott.

Right now we're having lunch on the museum grounds in the thriving town of Jerome, a stop which was recommended by a reader of this blog as being a place we shouldn't miss. Blog reader, Richard, was absolutely right. Jerome is charming and the museum here is outstanding. Jerome was a turn-of-the-century mining camp that largely followed the traditional boom and bust lifespan. We're used to that story in our home state of Nevada where gold and silver never seemed to last long enough for a community to become permanent.

In Jerome the miners were searching for copper. Starting with underground shafts, stopes, and galleries, the miners eventually transitioned to open pit mining in search of riches. At the height of the mining boom Jerome was home to some 15,000 people. Once the boom had ended the total population shrank to several hundred. Today, I think that the town sports a population of something like 500 folks.

As with most towns, mother nature exacted a heavy price on the town's residents before she gave up her riches. Fires routinely leveled dozens of houses and businesses. Mine accidents felled the town's sturdy miners. And the constant removing of the lower stratas of earth to recover ore sometimes caused whole sections of the town to simply fall into pits or, in some cases, toboggan down the hillside to end up a couple hundred feet from their original positions.

Concetta and I learned these fascination facts and more at the wonderful museum that sits below the town proper in a converted estate once belonging to one of the town's prominent residents. Everything from intricate models depicting all the underground workings of the various mines, to a fantastic rocks and minerals collection are housed in the museum. Of special interest to me was an outdoor display of rock crushing equipment. A steam-powered stamp mill was displayed right alongside a arrastre, a primitive ore reduction method comprising a circular, rock-lined pit in which broken ore is pulverized by stones, attached to horizontal bars. The bars are often attached to donkeys or mules who travel endlessly around the circle reducing the rock to powdery ore. I know from my reading as a child that the Spanish conquistadors of the fifteen and sixteen centuries used this same method of processing ore.

I asked the museum's ranger employees if they would advise me to try and pilot our thirty-foot RV through the tiny streets of Jerome so we could park somewhere and walk around. The museum is some distance downhill from the town. They told me that they wouldn't recommend me doing that. However I could park just outside the museum's gate and walk the mile or so up the mountain if we wanted to tour the town. Concetta and I elected not to take that on today since we spent much of yesterday doing exactly that same thing. So, for this time, we had to pass on the further adventures to be found in Jerome. We'd like to come back some day and visit again. We're sure that the effort would be amply rewarded.

Since we couldn't drive through town in order to continue on our way to Prescott, we elected to retrace some of our steps down the mountain, catch highway 260 that promised to intersect Highway 17 south of Sedona, and then catch Highway 169 that headed toward Prescott. It was a little bit out of our way, but the drive was wonderful. Along the way we found a market for stocking up our larder, a gas station to fill our tank, and navigate to the one and only RV camp on the outskirts of Prescott that promised full hookups.

So, here we are for the next two nights. Tomorrow we're going to leave camp and drive into downtown Prescott for a fun-filled day of walkabout. The camp hostess told us that there's a great museum in town, a Wally World for our essentials, and a great place to park near the center of town. What more could we want? So, until then, I'll say good night.

Sidewalking in Sedona

Today we set out on foot to explore Sedona, Arizona. Fortunately for us, our chosen RV camp site is just a half mile down the road from town. The morning skies looked dark and ominous as we set out and often scattered drops of rain fell on our straw-hatted heads. Only occasionally did the sun poke through the overcast as we walked, making for a pretty gloomy morning. Still, all the Sedona shops were so upbeat and brightly colored that you couldn't help by feel cheerful at all the sparkle and cleverly designed decor.

Most of the shops are pretty repetitious and it was easy to skip the Chinese-made trinkets in favor of the slightly more upscale shops selling some very nice art that we could in no way afford. I enjoyed the art galleries the most. Speaking as a person who was born with a modicum of photographic ability but came away with little or no talent when applying brush to canvas or clay to potter's wheel. Naturally, I have taken art classes in the past but never caught the spark. My paintings looked a lot like my efforts in the third grade. And trying to produce things like Terracotta pots on the spinning potter's wheel always ended in failure. Most times, I start with a vase and end up with something that resembled an ash tray. Might have been okay if I smoked.

We did have a bit of luck today. Friends whom we met at nephew Marc's house this week also planned to tour to Sedona when they left Carefree today. This was lucky for us since Concetta had forgotten her charging unit to her Kindle back at Marc's house. Our plans were to meet up and have lunch sometime at midday. At the time these plans were made I had envisioned the town of Sedona as much smaller than it actually turned out to be. As midday approached I began to be a tad apprehensive that we would never be able to zero in on the same location to make the transfer in an area that none of the participants were familiar with.

Wonder of wonders! Just before lunchtime we got a call and after a bit of filling each other in on our location based on surrounding buildings, it turned out that both couples were standing about 200 feet from each other. Amazing.

Property transfer out of the way, we learned that the couple, Gordon and Rita, intended to take to the back country and burn some calories. That didn't fit with my intention to ADD some calories to my diet. So, as easily as we had met, we parted company and Concetta and I crossed the street to the Oaxaca Mexican restaurant and proceeded to appreciate the grandeur of the surrounding sedimentary rocks through a large, plate glass window.

Now anyone who knows me knows that Mexican food is at the tail end of my preferred culinary interests. I never like the heavy feeling you leave the restaurant with. But in recent years I've been ordering the fish tacos and that seems to fit better with my desire to eat somewhat lighter. Of course, I couldn't pass up the sopapillas, which sounded just great. The last time we had sopapillas we thought were worth telling anyone about we were in Albuquerque and the year was 1976. Now the sopapillas today were still not as good as we'd had in Albuquerque, but they got close, which is reason enough to eat at Oaxaca if you ask me. By the way, the fish tacos were close to the best I've ever had and I heartily recommend them.

Lunch over, we began our leisurely walk back to the RV park accompanied by a light sprinkle of rain. Now and again when the rain would come down harder we'd duck into a handy art gallery or t-shirt shop and spend a few minutes. Eventually we came to the shopping area known as Tlaquepaque. Though I wasn't interested in the wares on sale there, the architecture was fascinating. Though I'm sure the center is not very old, the builders had endeavored to make it look otherwise. The whole center was laid out in narrow streets, alleys, and lanes and the shops were largely Spanish in style. Though the gray skies made photography difficult, I had a great time grabbing a shot here and there as the sun poked through and gave me a fleeting look at the rustic beauty of the place. Concetta consented, after a time, to rest on a nearby bench while I dashed here and there looking for the perfect shop. Not sure I got it but it was lots of fun trying.

After our foray at Tlaquepaque, we headed back to the RV in earnest. Thankfully it wasn't far for the rain seemed intent on getting us wet this time. Our day in Sedona had gone largely contrary to our immediate plans. It would have been interesting to try one of the many jeep tours, but with the skies threatening, the air less than balmy, and the wind blowing like it had somewhere very important to get to, we decided to curtail our exploration to the local city streets. Tomorrow I think we'll be headed up toward the grand canyon. Maybe we can catch some good weather and try a jeep tour up there. I think Sedona might be worth a return visit someday. We'd really like to get back away from the glitz of main street and see some of the countryside. Until then, we just have to be satisfied with our rainy walk today.

By the way, if you're coming here I definitely recommend reservations no matter what you're planning to do. We just barely found a spot in this RV park. Had we been just moments later all the spots would have been filled. Our friends (who delivered the charging device) told us that they had to stay in Flagstaff, about 25 miles away, as no rooms were available here at a reasonable price. This is a very popular place for the 20-something crowd and people who are interested in back country exploring. They rent 4x4 vehicles of several sorts here to the public and there are a dozen different back country jeep tour companies at your disposal. So, enough said. Come here and have a great time. You just need to plan ahead.

Being Carefree in, where else? Carefree, AZ

After leaving San Diego, we turned our trusty RV toward Arizona. The first night we only drove as far as El Centro, California, where we found a perfectly delightful RV park snuggled in alongside a golf course, itself lying next to a small lake. Since we were about the only transient folks in the park, we saw only a handful of others. The rest had evidently pulled up stakes and headed for cooler climes.

When we left El Centro the next morning we headed slightly east then north toward Quartzite, Arizona, a place we came to realize was a favorite of the off-road crowd who were camped everywhere dunes were to be found. Every passing truck or motor home was pulling a trailer full of "toys" and every distant dune top contained some sort of off road vehicle.

Carefree is located near Scotsdale, though a little higher in elevation and further away from the population center. Marc has just this past month managed to pull off a major coup and purchase a 4-bedroom, 4-bath house in a wonderful neighborhood full of slump stone, ranch-style haciendas, an incredible galaxy of native plants, and carefully yet rustically manicured yards. The temperature while we were there was just as close to perfect as one may find on planet earth, with cool nights and warmish days that just beg you to talk a walk and pick out your future home away from home.

Of course, the Scotsdale environs are only heaven on earth for seven or eight months of the year. After that, it gets blast furnace hot and defies you to venture forth from the confines of your air conditioned quarters. But that's why God created snowbirds. Still, if you wanted a place to escape the unpredictable winters in northern climes you could do no better than to dash right down to Carefree, Arizona, and plant your flag in the front yard of some house with a "for sale" sign and go find the realtor to arrange the sale.

Marc and Nancy, Concetta's nephew and his wife, are in Arizona because Nancy was transferred by her company to the Scotsdale office. Marc, an electrician, is probably going to find ample work since he's so close to urban Phoenix. I suspect that Marc is going to have all the work he can handle once he gets established.

So, for the past couple of days we've been vegging at Marc and Nancy's house, just kicking back, enjoying adult refreshments, and watching a veritable marathon of American Pickers on the tube. Mark gave us a wonderful tour yesterday of downtown Carefree, which, to some extent, has suffered just as much as everywhere else as far as business closings go. Still, we were just very impressed with the little town for its upscale shops, streets free of litter, and remarkable absence of graffiti.


This morning, after a large helping of Mark's famous oatmeal, a terrific slice of home-grown grapefruit courtesy the neighbor across the street, and some downright unforgettable freshly-ground coffee, we unplugged our lifeline from Marc's garage, took the RV off the blocks, and headed down the hill in the direction of the Carefree highway (don't you just love saying that?). After filling the tanks, both gasoline and propane, we set out to find Highway 17 which runs toward Flagstaff.

For most of the early part of the day we just cruised and listened to our David Baldacci murder mystery on the CD player. The closer we got to northern Arizona the redder the dirt became. A few miles south of Flagstaff we caught sight of references to Sedona. Since neither one of us had every been to Sedona we took the off-ramp and began our trek up Highway 179 in search of our quarry.

Wow! We knew Sedona was popular, but we were unprepared for the quantity of fellow vacationers we encountered. Fortunately, we arrived at our AAA-recommended camp site and managed to get a two-day gig. The chap standing just behind me was only able to get a one-day spot. That's how busy this place is.

Tomorrow we'll be seeing just what sights we can take in up the road in town. Hopefully, we'll find some place to experience Sedona without having to climb over other globe trekkers to do it.

Now for the bad news: while maneuvering the rig into position in our camp tonight I "kissed" the cab-over into a inconveniently-located tree limb and crunched the fiberglass. I suspect it's going to take someone very talented to fix it but hopefully if we don't get any downpours I can keep the coach weather tight with some strategically-placed plastic and tape.

Still, you know what they say, no pain no gain. We've already experienced some wear and tear on the coach in the form of a fractured rooftop fridge cover up in Montana last fall. I know I'm going to occasionally bang this truck up a bit since it's so damn long, but anything is fixable with enough time, talent, and money and we'll just have to tough it out and get it fixed when we get home. It's either that, or we can drive it up to the Dakotas and find a oil rig worker who desperately needs a place to live, sell it him, and then fly home. The thought crossed my mind.

Anyway, that's all for now. Take care and don't let the bangs and scrapes of life keep you off the highways. Go out and do it...NOW!





Wow!

Headed for Arizona

This afternoon, our visit to San Diego too soon finished, Concetta and I turned the RV in the direction of Arizona and began our journey to Mark and Nancy's house near Scottsdale. The past two days the Tioga was parked in cousin Angie Campanella's front yard (with barely and inch to spare) and we tried hard not to use the black water holding tank too much since we wouldn't be able to pump it until we reached some future RV park. Yesterday we spent the entire day touring southern California, and more specifically, Hollywood, in an effort to show Angie's granddaughter, Vivian, the sights before she returns to her home in Washington D.C., and, in the near future, college in Vermont.

The first thing we did is arise at the tender hour of 5:00 a.m., bolt down a bowl of cereal, and then head for Interstate 15 in the direction of Glendora and, eventually, Pasadena where we planned to abandon the car and take to the light rail. Before leaving San Diego we stopped to pick up Vivian's friend, Megan. Then it was headlong into the commuter fray and, hopefully, a decent arrival time in Pasadena. This we managed to pull off in grand style and in a short two and a half hours or so we were exiting the Route 210 on Allen Street and were pulling up in back of a McDonalds where we all hoped to use the bathroom and maybe grab a quick snack.

Angie and I had the oatmeal which turned out to be surprisingly good. Once everyone was back in the car we were soon pulling up in the underground parking garage in the Paseo Mall on Colorado Street. We locked up and then set out on foot for the Del Mar station on the Gold Line light rail.

After a short ten or fifteen minute wait the train pulled up and we all took our seats for the run to Union Station. I always find the gold line run to Union Station a very relaxing and fun trip. It doesn't take very long and you get to see lots and lots of interesting historic houses along the way. Angie especially enjoyed the trip as she befriended a young Mexican chap who told her he came from just outside Mexico City and was in L.A. all by himself trying to make a living. Hard to imagine but true. I wonder if any of us could do the same in Mexico City.

Once at Union station we herded everyone toward the Red Line to North Hollywood and continued our journey. Angie again managed to find a young Hispanic man to converse with and seemed to have a great time talking to him for the eight or nine stops we intended to travel.

When we reached Hollywood and Vine station climbed the stairs to the bright Friday morning sunshine and began our trek down Hollywood Blvd., just taking in the sights. Crowds were pretty manageable until we crossed the street to see the Groman's Chinese theater where seemingly everyone on Hollywood Blvd. eventually intended to congregate. We spent a good thirty minutes there just looking at all the signatures and hand/foot prints in the concrete.

The teenagers spent lots and lots of time photographing the sidewalk stars and getting their photos taken with characters like Johnny Depp who lined the sidewalk in every direction.

Just after noon we stopped at a sandwich shop and topped up our appetites then headed out on the sidewalk again. Angie had an idea: she wanted to show the girls Rodeo Drive in Beverly Hills. I was a tad skeptical, but Angie seemed to have the route all figured out. So off we went to find the correct bus. Our "All Day" ticket for the light rail also worked on the city buses so we didn't have to spend any money.

Despite the fact that I was skeptical that we could get there from here, Angie navigated us to Beverly Hills and Rodeo Drive were we hoofed it around for an hour and had a great time. When we were done we found a nearby ice cream shop that, for some reason, had only chocolate ice cream left in stock. So Angie and I had some coffee-flavored chocolate ice cream, Concetta had mint flavored chocolate, and the girls had peanut-flavored chocolate. Crazy but good.

Once the ice cream interlude was over, we could see that the afternoon was headed toward evening and we still had to retrace our steps to Union Station so we could catch the light rail back to the car in Pasadena. Once again, Angie the Navigator came through and guided us to the correct bus that soon dropped us at the Purple Line station at Western and Whilshire. Then, almost before we knew it, we were pulling up to Union Station and then were disembarking the Yellow Line train at Del Mar in Pasadena. Then, to make matters even more incredible, we discovered that it was only going to cost us $9.00 to park the car all day long at the Paseo Mall parking lot.

It turned out to be a long drive home in the dark, but for the most part we didn't experience too much congestion due to rush hour and by 8:30 we had dropped off Megan and then dropped in on Dick and Nancy who lived nearby. Dick regaled us with tales of his "rat and rabbit hunting" in his back yard. The critters are doing lots and lots of damage to his garden plants.

When we left Dick and Nancy's it was only twenty or thirty minutes and we were back at Angie's house and I was sure glad to get out of that car. It had been a long, long day and I had spent at least five hours behind the wheel. Since none of us had eaten anything since the ice cream extravaganza at 5:00 p.m. Angie finished the evening by heating up some leftovers which I sure appreciated.

This morning we slept in until 8:00 or so and then Angie whipped up a mess of flapjacks and fresh fruit for breakfast. They were some of the best flapjacks that I have ever tasted and, along with the great coffee and fruit, we enjoyed it immensely.
Once breakfast was over it was time to visit Tony and Francis Montisano. Our visit also turned out to be memorable as Tony's daughter and ex-son-in-law, Kevin, were there as well as Tony's grandson, Joey. It was great to see Tony since he's been bedridden and not doing too well these days and we never know how many times we'll be able to see him.

After our visit we returned to Angie's house where we took the Tioga off the blocks, unhooked the electrical, and prepared to leave. Even though it was getting late in the day for travel -- about 1:00 p.m. -- we decided to try and get in a few miles and camp in El Centro or Yuma for the night. Before leaving San Diego we did just a bit of grocery shopping and, while Concetta was doing that, I walked over to Starbuck's Coffee and had them fill the thermos for our lunch.

Once on the road the miles clicked off swiftly as we listen to the last of the Kellerman mystery CDs. As it turned out, we found ourselves in El Centro right around the time we usually stop for the day. We stopped at a park recommended by the AAA group and it has turned out to be a darn nice park, though their internet policy is pretty onerous. Still, it's right on a lake and next to a golf course. Along the perimeter of the property is a line of old wagons that I photographed and it even comes complete with a bocci ball course, pool, and lots of other recreation features.

As the sun set in the west, Concetta and I walked the bluffs above the golf course and lake and snapped a bunch photos. It was truly a wonderful vacation moment.

We arrive in San Diego.

Yesterday, though largely unplanned, turned out to be pretty darn exciting. We really liked the KOA in Banning for it's peaceful setting, wonderful vistas, and quiet nature. But we can't recommend it since they don't have decent WiFi. They do have WiFi, but they only let you use it for one hour in each 24 hours, which is just draconian and stupid. Usually KOA corporate emails me for comments on our camp experience and I intend to complain about the Banning KOA's silly internet policy.

We left our camp in Banning around 9:30 a.m. and headed east on Interstate 10 toward Palm Springs. Incredibly enough, even though I grew up in Southern California, I had never been to Palm Springs. Concetta had never been there, either, so we were both excited to take a look. I assumed it was probably a sleepy resort town full of 50s-era, rock-roofed houses and lots of sandy acreage.

The first place we stopped was the visitor center on highway 111 on the western edge of town. The center was housed in a converted mid-century, futuristic gas station that looked like a concrete bunker with a giant jet aircraft wing growing out of the roof. I've never been a fan of mid-century architecture, but the visitor center was pretty darn cool. It was there we learned about the possibility of riding the aerial tramway to the top of Mt. San Jacinto. Quite by accident we had stumbled on the one thing I had always wanted to do in southern California as a kid and had never gotten to do it. And, even more astonishing, the road to the bottom of the tramway ran right beside the visitor center. So, after buying the requisite T-shirt for Palm Springs, we hoped in the ol' RV and started up the mountain.


Wow! That road was pretty darn steep. I think we did most of the climb at thirty miles an hour and, eventually, in the lowest gear. When we finally reached the parking area we looked out over the half-filled lot and saw absolutely no motor homes. I wasn't sure they were going to allow me to park at all. But the attendant just pointed to the far end of the lot and said, "just put it over by the trees and take two spaces if you need to." Neat! No hassle at all. Since she had indicated that we park well away from the cars it was easy to maneuver and park and I could let the rear end hang way out over the brushy mountain slope, which meant I didn't take up the whole thirty feet of length in the lot.

Camera in hand, Concetta and I walked back to the parking lot entrance and we were soon boarding the shuttle bus for the final climb to the lower lodge. Even though we had probably only climbed a thousand feet from the valley floor, the scenery was already stunning. Vast fields of tall, white windmills whirled in unison way off in the distance and Palm Springs looked a lot like a giant Rand McNally map laid out before us.

Once inside the lodge we queued up to buy our tickets and then wandered around the grounds for thirty minutes while we waited for our turn on the tram. The trams have been modernized in recent years and now have a carrying capacity of 80 people. Not only that, but the cars are arranged so everyone gets to see everything as you ascend to the top of the mountain 6,000 feet above you. They do this by having the floor in the cable car revolve. It feels a little weird at first, but the floor is constantly moving so that one minute you're starring down the mountain toward the lower lodge and the next minute you're looking up the long, long cable way to the very top thousands of feet above you. You do about two complete revolutions in the ten-minute ride.

Everything about the tram ride is smooth and comfortable and in a short ten minutes you find yourself in the upper lodge. Naturally the temperature has changed about forty degrees from that of the Valley floor. But we didn't find ourselves minding at all, though we were glad we brought long-sleeved shirts when we ventured outside onto the patios and trails around the lodge. The air up there is so clean and pine-scented and the sun so sparkling bright you just immediately fall in love with the place.

After soaking up all the mountain air and sunshine we could, we jumped back on the descending tram (they run every ten minutes) and headed back for the RV. Our plans for the day involved reaching San Diego and Concetta's cousin, Angie's house where we planned to stay for a few days. Only trouble was, by the time we finished lunch it was early afternoon and we'd only traveled about 25 miles from our morning camp in Banning. I figured that we'd be most of the rest of the day getting to San Diego. So, we topped off the gas at a nearby station, put our murder mystery CD in the player and headed for the open road.

Since our route involved driving through much of old Palm Springs I was pretty surprised when it differed from my mental image of the place so drastically. I was expecting something fairly small and quaint. But there's nothing small about Palm Springs. It's HUGE! And, there are a couple of other towns that meld right into it nowadays. Lot's of expensive cars running around like Bentleys and Jags, manicured landscaping that you normally expect in Beverly Hills, mile after mile of shops of all descriptions. We were just amazed. Lots of hustle and bustle in the business district, gated communities for the rich folks, and everything looks pretty opulent.

Soon we came to Route 74 running towards San Diego and we made our turn and started our climb out of the desert and into the mountains. Pretty hard climb to the very top, but certainly picturesque. Once on top it was an easy run down the other side of the mountain to where Route 74 intersected Route 15. Thankfully, the traffic going south toward San Diego was light and we had an easy run to Angie's house.

Last night Angie cooked up a big batch of great Italian food and we were surprised when more cousins popped in to shared our visit. We drank lots of wine, I retrieved some Sambucca and Nocello from the motor home, and none of us got to bed until well after midnight. Pretty darn nice day and another grand adventure.

Beautiful Day in the Neighborhood

Last night was a tad chilly in our little aluminum home due to the elevation and proximity to the lofty Sierra Nevada near Lone Pine, California. Still, we just huddled together (since I was too cold to get up and go to the front part of the coach and retrieve the comforter) until dawn at which time we jumped up, threw the thermostat into high, and got back under the covers until things thawed out.

Later, after some hot oatmeal and coffee, we cleaned up our campsite and headed for the open road. The camp ground at Boulder Creek is wonderful, for those of you headed in that direction, and we encourage everyone to give it a try. But, as always, the open road beckoned and we answered the call.

The Tioga is a very smooth-running coach and I really enjoy driving it. Most times, I just set the cruise control, Concetta puts the latest book on CD into the changer, and away we go. We've found that it's absolutely lovely having everything you need right there, whether it's water, a snack or a bathroom, it's never very far away. I just love it when we're rolling along and decide it's about lunchtime. We just scan the passing scenery for a spot to pull off and moments later we're having our sandwich and coffee with a new and different vista out the window.

Today we stuck mostly to Hwy 395 through places like Cartago, Olancha (where they used to have a killer Art Deco filling station long abandoned), and Victorville. Long about Victorville we really noticed the increase in traffic headed towards San Bernardino and soon we were hemmed in by 18-wheelers, speeding compact cars, and other motor homes and fifth-wheels. It was surely exciting since we don't ever see that kind of traffic in Nevada.

The freeway signs turned out to be pretty understandable and it wasn't long before we had merged onto the 215, the 15, and then the 10. Route 10 was our final interstate for the day as our destination was the city of Banning where we hoped to find the local KOA nestled under a forest of trees as advertised by the brochure. The KOA brochure hit the directions right on the money and by 4:00 p.m. we were rolling up to the office.

Our campsite is absolutely wonderful. The park is only about half full and very quiet. And the mountain vistas to the south and to the west are just awesome. This time I got the truck leveled on the first try and we were having our afternoon walk scant minutes later. Once we returned to the coach, Concetta whipped up a great Southern Comfort and cranberry juice cocktail to hasten our pre-dinner relaxation. Later I discovered that I did forget to put the rear jacks in place and turn on the gas for the stove, but I'm blaming the alcohol for that.

Today, I spent some time tracking down all the things we forgot to bring along. Concetta needed wooden spoons and some Dixie cups, while I needed a handy Best Buy so I could remedy the missing camera memory card reader that ended up who knows where in the packing process. Probably still sitting on my desk at home. But thanks to our sojourn through Victorville we came away with everything we needed.

So, here we are just 25 miles west of Palm Springs, watching Dancing with the Stars, and planning for our final California leg of San Diego. In San Diego we are hoping to visit a number of relatives including Concetta's sole remaining uncle, Tony Montisano, who is not doing too good right now. We'll also be visiting Angie Malcangio, a recent transplant from Arlington, Virginia, who has always been one of our favorite family members to hang out with for our many shared interests.

So, tomorrow we're headed for Palm Springs, a place I've never seen, the Salton Sea, ditto on the previous visits, and then on down to Route 8 at the bottom of the state before we head back west for a bit to San Diego. We have no idea just what we might experience on this route, but we're hoping it's exciting. Until then, I'll say Ciao for the evening.

Spring Vacation -- April, 2012

Hey, we're on the road again, headed for San Diego and, eventually, Arizona. Two days ago it was snowing in Northern Nevada and it just seemed the proper time to seek out some warm country. We left the Davis ranch around 9:30 this morning and had nothing but smooth sailing, if you can put it that way, all day long. The skies were blue, the highway lightly traveled, and the truck ran like a top. Around lunch time we turned off the highway and headed for the Mono Lake Visitor's Center where we spent a lovely hour touring the grounds and the museum as well as the book store. Concetta had never visited before. I think I discovered the center on a trip I took with Charles Seims some years ago as we headed for our annual hiking trip in Pasadena. If you haven't stopped, please do so on your next trip. It's very nicely done.

After lunch, we headed off down the road for our next stop, the museum in Independence, California. Did you know that Charles Manson was tried in the Independence Court House? Even if you're not up on the Mansion trial, the courthouse is definitely worth a visit. And if you haven't ever visited the Independence Museum, you're really in for a treat, especially if you like American Indian basketry. Also to be seen at the Independence Museum is the section on the Manzanar Japanese relocation camp. They've even recreated a nice section of one of the dwelling units right inside the museum.

Since we hadn't planned on traveling more than a couple of hundred miles today, our destination turned out to be the Boulder Creek RV park just south of Lone Pine. We've passed it a hundred times as we traveled between Los Angeles and Carson City and I always thought it looked interesting, especially for the wonderful boulder masonry they've constructed along the highway. Well, today we stopped and were pleasantly surprised to find it a spacious, well kept, and reasonably-priced park. For those who don't want to whip up breakfast before they hit the trail, they offer coffee and rolls. They have a pool and hot tup, a big-screen TV for in the rec room, and lots and lots of trees to shade us from the western sun. You have the towering southern Sierra on the western (highway) side and the vastness of the great basin desert on the east. This afternoon when we arrived the air was warm and inviting and we couldn't wait to get in a walk after dinner.

Setting up the RV didn't go quite as nice as I like this first day out. I got the leveling all wrong, I parked so far from the sewer outlet I had to s-t-r-e-t-c-h the hose to its breaking point to get it to fit. And I dumped sewer water all over my hands when I removed the cover from the outlet pipe, evidently due to my not having tightened down on the shutoff good enough last time. Oh, well, I didn't try to rectify anything. I just left it alone. Tomorrow, I'll get it right.

Wonder of wonders we have decent WiFi here and, in addition to my connecting with the laptop, Concetta was able to get her IPAD on as well. So, it was a quiet evening as we each answered our email and read from Facebook. Tomorrow, we're off down the road toward San Diego. At this point we're not sure just where we're going to be staying tomorrow night except to say we probably won't try and make the whole 300 miles in one jump.

Until then, I bid you good traveling.