Day 3 -- Pahrump, Nevada to Seligman, Arizona -- 227 miles

Today was one of the weirdest and wettest traveling days we've ever experienced. The fact that we were motoring through some of the driest terrain in the country made it all the more strange. It rained from the time we left camp at the Wine Ridge RV Resort in Pahrump near Las Vegas (photo left), until we slogged into the Seligman RV camp on old Route 66 in northern Arizona. The journey reminded us not so much of the American desert southwest as it did of our soggy visit to Scotland in 2008. It rained and it rained. And when it didn't just rain, it rained like someone was pouring water out of a bucket. We did luck out shortly after arriving at the camp in Seligman for just as we paid our fee and rolled into our designated spot the rain stopped for about a half an hour so I could do all the setup work without getting soaked.

Right now? Well it's raining ferociously. Several rigs have just pulled into the park and no one is even venturing outside to do their setup. And I'm just sitting here comtemplating what I might write about since we didn't even venture outside the rig today except to get gas under a covered canopy in Pahrump. Well, actually I did take a small detour in Peach Springs, Arizona, this afternoon because there was an adjacent railroad crossing and I thought I might catch a train going by in the rain and the lights would be cool. We waited at the grade crossing for about ten minutes and sure enough, said train did appear.

Then I had to grab the camera, hold it under my shirt while dashing for the tracks, and succeeded in getting my shot. Though as you can see, the rain wasn't hard enough and the lights were not bright enough to make a good shot.

The worst rain I ever encountered was in the state of Tennessee. The time frame was in 1970, when I had joined the Naval Air Corp and was posted, of all places, to Chicago. After I had been in Chicago for about six months I was posted to Millington, Tennessee, for Navy electronics school. Most of the 10,000 or so sailors on that base had come directly from boot camp and had no easy way of seeing the countryside. I, on the other hand, had come from active duty and had driven my own car to the base. This meant, while most of my shipmates were stuck on the base or had to use public transportation, I was free to roam anywhere I wanted on my time off. Along with a cadre of friends that I made in my own barracks, I did just that.

So it was that I discovered driving in the rain in Tennessee. Today's rain was nothing like Tennessee. In that lovely state just south of Kentucky, so green that it reminds you of glossy photos of Ireland, one of the first things that strikes you as you motor down the many country roads surrounded by verdant farms and fields is the magnitude of the roadside ditches. We're not talking small gullies here that might be a couple of feet deep that stand ready to catch the odd runoff from some spring freshet. No, these gullies are wide enough and deep enough to hide an average sized car were it to roll over and land upside down some dark night when the driver had had too much southern "comfort" in town.

I found myself pondering these massive arroyos when I would go out exploring the countryside, initially by myself, before I had a acquired a "crew." Until one afternoon when the sky opened up and began to dump so much water on the windshield of my car I thought I had inadvertently driven into a lake or something. But no, it was just rain. Rain like I'd never seen it. Rain so heavy and so incessant that the windshield wipers on maximum velocity did absolutely NOTHING to stem the tide. Rain so thunderous and enveloping that I had to roll down my side window, stick my head out, and steer the car to the shoulder and stop.

And that's when I beheld the reason for the ditches large enough in which float full-sized sailboats. Adjacent to where I had parked on the shoulder was what had so recently been a cavernous empty ditch. Now that empty ditch had become a major canal, full to overflowing with a raging torrent of rainwater. I was stunned! I scooted over and rolled down the passenger-side window and checked the other side of the road. Yup, that ditch was flooded right up to the highway right-of-way as well.

So I sat there for a time just appreciating the magnificence of mother nature. No reason to begrudge the time spent. Both ahead and behind me lines of motorists had pulled over as well. But soon, the rain tapered off and the line of cars slowly, cautiously began to ease back onto the blacktop and pull away. I sat there for a time just enjoying the spectacle. Finally, as the sun came out and everyone had pretty much gone on to their various destinations, I too eased back onto the tiny country road and sped away.

But nature had one more trick up its sleeve for me that I could not have anticipated. Of course in those days of teenage bravado I always drove a little more "expeditiously" then was warranted. In this case, that turned out to be a big mistake. As quickly as I could, I shot up to fifty on the tiny road and left the other drivers far behind me. I was having a great time and it didn't cause a problem until I crested a hill and, in the process of plunging down the other side, hit a portion of the highway where the recent rain had completely flooded not only the ditches but the road surface as well. As I sailed down the other side of the hill I smacked right into about six inches of water on the road surface which immediately caused my '65 Chevy (photo above left) to begin hydroplaning across the surface while drifting steadily toward the driver-side ditch.

Well, fortunately for me, I hit pavement just before I would have ended up driving a submarine. And thereafter, I had a great deal of respect for the power of rain in the great state of Tennessee. I let other drivers power by me and I just would lope along and take my time. Live and learn.

And that's all I have to say about that. So until we hit the road tomorrow and have more exciting things to tell you about THIS trip, I bid you Happy Travels!