Day 7 -- Gallup to Albuquerque, New Mexico -- 140 Miles

The as-the-crow-flies distance from Gallup to tonight's camp in Albuquerque might be 140 miles, however counting our side trip to the Acoma Pueblo Cultural Center the distance will read more like 170 miles. No matter, we comfortably made Albuquerque by four o'clock and miraculously managed to secure the very last space in the "Enchanted Trail RV Park & Trading Post that still had full hookups.

The reason that the camp was largely filled in this unlikely travel month of October is that the local hot air ballon festival has been taking place since the 1st of October and, if the camp clerk is to be believed, is still going strong. Hence, spaces are going fast and the stays are long-term.

In reality we only ended up here by accident. I called a totally different park who reserved a space for us, but when Concetta fed the phone number into her IPhone to get directions it somehow guided us to Enchanted Trails.

Our fault or the phone's fault, it makes no difference. I had to call the other guys and cancel our reservation because it was nine miles back the way we had come.

Our Saturday driving adventure didn't exactly start out very smoothly. When we were ready to roll, dark, angry clouds filled the entire skyscape from horizon to horizon. Before long, rain began to fall and soon after was taxing our windshield wipers on the high setting

Starting out, we weren't quite in need of gas, so we rolled east toward the town of Grants, New Mexico, where I thought we could fill up at about the halfway mark. That worked fine, except when I pulled up to the pump, stopped, and stuffed my credit card into the reader it refused to even acknowledge me. With a sigh I got back in the rig and jockied the big vehicle a few spaces down to where another pump was free.

Gasoline was running $3.82 a gallon, which was a darn sight better than the five and six dollars we've been paying. While standing filling the tank, I happened to glance to the west and realized that the nearby RV park looked mightly familiar. When we got ready to leave, Concetta didn't agree with me, so I drove us over there and right up to the office. At that point both of us agreed that we had indeed stayed at the Bar-5 RV Park several times.

I particularly remember the Bar-5 for it's wonderful proximity to a dual-corridor mainline railroad. If you ever wanted to do some train-spotting and photographym the Bar-5 in Grants is for you. Just about every quarter hour freights go screaming by east to west or west to east. Most of these freights, if memory serves, are the intermodal type and are comprised of a full mile of double-stacked containers like the ones you see on giant container ships.

Our major off-highway experience today was a trip to the Acoma Pueblo and Cultural Center in Acoma, New Mexico. Though we had to travel 15 miles south of our travel direction, and the rain continued to pelt us all the while, we were certainly glad we took the time and effort to make the journey.

This is Concetta's write-up of our experience: "Today we were privileged to visit the Sky City Cultural Center and HAAK’U Museum in Acoma, NM. The Pueblo, which dates back to 1100 A. D., is on the National Register of Historic Monuments and the pueblo's San Esteban del Rey Mission (which came after the Spanish conquest in 1519) has been designated as one of 100 endangered sites by the World Monuments Fund. The people we met there were friendly and eager to share their culture with us. The magnificent views of rock formations are awe inspiring, and if you love the history of early cultures, Acoma Pueblo is a place you must see."

At first as we approached, all we could see were some towering sandstone rock formations standing like a group of soldiers waiting to go into battle. The rain, the darkened skies, and the narrowness of the road prevented us from stopping to capture the "soldiers" with the camera. But with blue skies and bright sunshine I bet the spectacle would be memorable.

Just after the standing rocks, the cultural center came into view, and we gratefully pulled into the parking lot and eased our 32 foot length into a standard-sized space but with 1/3 of our length hanging out the back. Since it was lunch time, we got that chore out of the way first, then we put on some shoes we didn't mind getting muddy, and set out.

Once at the check-in counter, we were confronted with a price slightly higher than we usually see, however we really didn't mind as we know that native American-related activities seldom get the support from the public that they should.

Once the formalities were out of the way, we sought out the rear of the building where a dozen vendors were selling some of the finest handmade goods we've seen on any of our trips. We were especially taken with the photographic work by a young female college student who had captured some very fine scenes. She also did hand engraving of clay pots which we found equally skilled and wonderful.

Though we didn't buy any goods, we certainly entertained the idea and wished only that we had actual space to carry fine art safely.

Our next event was to watch a movie on the history of the Mesa-top living Acoma people who were part of the ancestral group that at one time were known as the Anazasi. The term is no longer used, however tribal lore says that they came from much further north of New Mexico and could be found in settlements like Mesa Verde in Colorado and Chaco Canyon in New Mexico before arriving in the Acoma vicinity.

As we learned today in the informational film we watched, the Acoma people used "Kivas" -- circular pits roofed over with timbers, sticks, and mud -- for their religious ceremonies, and made their homes on the top of lofty mesas which they inhabited for protection from enemies.

In 1519 the enemies turned out to be the Spanish coming up from Mexico City looking for gold. At first the Acoma people were successful in warding off the Spanish, but future attacks eventually resulted in the Acoma people being subjugated and made to adopt Catholicism as their religion. However, as the narrator of the film told us, often the Acoma simply camouflaged their Kivas and placed them inside their houses so they could pursue their religion unseen.

Today, not many Acoma live on the top of the Acoma Pueblo Mesa, but twice a year they allow outsiders to visit and experience what it was like to live in such a setting.

As we were preparing to leave today, a Native American woman came rushing up to me and asked if I had taken some good photos of the Indian dancers who had joined the artisans at one point for entertainment. When I agreed that I probably had, she asked if I would be willing to email them to her. I told her I would, and before long we all were launched into a full-fledged photo session outside the building. We shot a number of poses and everyone seemed to have just a great time.

When I returned to the rig, I immediately set up the CD-burner and made a copy of all the photos, then delivered the CD to the woman who had remained in the building. Since people don't always have CD readers nowadays, I told her that I would aslo send the photos via email, though with AOL I can only do a very few at a time.

Anyway, that was the end of our truely enjoyable visit with the Acoma people, and I hope that someday we'll be able to visit when the open house is taking place. They old us they're open 3 days around Christmas and on September 1st. They told us that they were so grateful for the photos, that they would send us a persondal invitation in the future. What more could you ask for?

And that's it for now. We had a wonderful day, this our celebratory wedding day from 45 years ago, and we didn't mind a bit that it was gray and rainy all day.

So ciao for now and we wish you happy travels of your own.

Day 6 -- Flagstaff, Arizona to Gallup, New Mexico -- 185 Miles

Everywhere we go on our RV travels nowadays, Concetta and I always marvel at how America is changing. Bustling towns with once modern amenities like major banks, hardware stores, and cafes are now often all but dead, their main streets vacant of human traffic and their shops closed. Often main streets look more like the dusty, tumbleweed-festooned streets in a Clint Eastwood western than the thriving business communities they were once upon a time.

On the other hand, sleepy little single-lane hamlets and villages that we might have seen as children or visited as young adults have mysteriously burgeoned into massive cities bisected by multi-lane freeways, high-traffic rail lines, and sprawling commercial sections fringed by tens of thousands of homes.

In the last twenty-four hours, as we cruised east across Arizona, we experienced both these "realities." Yesterday, when we made a reservation at the KOA campground and arrived just before dinnertime, it came as quite a shock when we realized that we had almost certainly stayed at the same campground on our very first summer vacation together back in 1977. At that time we were both single, and had only just met the preceding fall.

Our mode of transportation that summer was Concetta's tired old 1964 VW Bug that had a top speed of 45 miles per hour, unless you were going downhill or had a distinct tailwind. How we actually made it to Flagstaff in the car can be described as nothing short of a miracle.

That particular day in 1977, when we arrived at the campground in Flagstaff and climbed the steepish driveway to pitch our tent in a semi-secluded clearing, we had driven much of the way on Route 66, the now fabled two-lane road with all it's peaceful bucolic scenery and lack of heavy trucks. Things were so peaceful in our camp that I don't remember hearing any distractions at all. It was like we were completely alone, which was very nice for our brand new relationship.

Fast forward 45 years to our arrival last night and the difference was phenomenal. We rolled into town on Interstate 40 which didn't even exist in 1977. When nearing the camp address, we exited Interstate 40 and headed north to Route 86 where we took a right onto what I believe was old route 66. From there it was an easy jump to the camp entrance.

"The camp entrance seems familiar," I told Concetta, "but nothing surrounding the entrance looks familiar."

Right across the street from the camp entrance was a huge shopping center that went on for several city blocks. Where once there existed the narrow, two-lane Route 66 edged by grassy fields and pine trees, now there are six lanes of bumper-to-bumper traffic practicing the rush hour ritual, parking lots with thousands of cars, and every possible commerical business you would ever need in one place.

Once inside the camp, we were hopeful that there would be some peace and quiet, but that was not to be. Where in 1977 we could easily pretend we were the only campers in the secluded forest setting, now the camp was comprised of dozens and dozens of campsites, all filled with glossy motorhomes and fifth wheels. And every single one of these vehicles came complete with othen noisy campers and pets.

In short, the future had completely usurped our one-time camping paradise.

But what if such economic development had never happened? What if Flagstaff and our once idyllic campground had been bypassed by humanity, much as vast stretches of Route 66 in today's world have been cut off by the Interstate Highway system and been bypassed and ignored by the general public?

As we headed east from Flagstaff to Gallup, New Mexico today we saw firsthand what has happened to many, many of the once-thriving towns and commercial stop-overs on Route 66, which often paralleled our travels on Route 40. Graffitti artists have made great sport of tagging the sad remaining motels, gas stations, and houses along Route 66, but it is nothing more than a feeble desicration of a cemetery. It just made it easier to realize that the dead weren't coming back to life!

But what if the death could somehow have been staved off? Well, that question has been answered by the folks in the community of Winslow, Arizona. There, thanks to a chance hit by a very popular musical group, both the death AND the funeral have been forestalled indefinitely.

As most of you know, Winslow figured prominently in the Eagles hit, "Take it Easy." Here's a writeup I found in "Arizona Journey:" "Rock song Take it Easy, [was] made famous by the group, The Eagles. The town of Winslow has embraced the song and created a park commemorating the song. In the opening line, lead singer Glenn Frey belted out “standing on a corner in Winslow, Arizona, such a fine sight to see. It's a girl my Lord in a flatbed Ford slowing down to take a look at me....” putting that town (and that corner) forever on the map of must-see rock-and-roll sights."

"Standing on the Corner Park refers to the opening line to one of Eagles’ most iconic songs, from their debut self-titled album. Jackson Browne and Eagles co-founder Glenn Frey wrote Take it Easy in 1971, and it was released as the Eagles’ first single in 1972. Even a half-century later, the song still resonates."

Although there is much to be done in Winslow to keep the spectre of death away from the door, what we saw today gave us hope that it might be possible to recapture some of the glory of the old Route 66 days if tourists brought to town seeking the famous corner and flatbed truck could be pursuaded to stay by other attractions, or at least pursuaded to have a burger, buy a t-shirt, or grab a tank of gas as was done with us today.

If you would like to read more on the Winslow phenomenum, or think you'd someday like to get YOUR photo on the famed street corner, paste this URL into your browser to see Arizona Journey's description:

https://arizonajourney.org/standing-on-the-corner-winslow-arizona/

Day 5 -- Carefree to Flagstaff, Arizona -- 132 Mile

This morning, since we were pulling our electric cord from nephew, Marc's house, and no sewer line or water was hooked up, we rolled out of Carefree, Arizona, promptly at 9:00 a.m. The morning was so cool and lovely, absent the Pheonix area's 100 degree heat, we almost hated to leave. As we ate breakfast a solid stream of neighbors in Bermuda shorts and track shoes jogged or walked briskly by our window and disappeared down the road as they took advantage of the cool temps. We were just a bit envious.

But leave we must, as our intended destination of Kittyhawk, North Carolina, was still many hundreds of miles away. So, with Concetta's IPhone doing our navigation, we set off in a northwesterly direction from Carefree, then caught Interstate 17 in the general direction of Flagstaff where we expected the daytime temps to be more to our liking.

Naturally, we hadn't gone more than five or six miles and we came across a sign for the "Pioneer Village" just ahead at the next exit. "What do you think," I asked Concetta. "It sure sounds like a great place to rack up a few photos for the blog."

"Up to you," she said, as we came abreast of the offramp.

And that's how we ended up spending the entire morning strolling, chatting, and shooting about 130 photos of a re-created western town complete with every imaginable type of residential, commerical, and eclesiastical structure. Though we decided to skip the simulated frontier shootout being put on for the benefit of 125 bused-in school children, we did spend a very informative and pleasureable half hour with Ron Eastwood and his wife, Joan, who were docents in the telecommuications exhibit and who were just about to celebrate their 66th anniversary. Naturally I asked Ron about his lineage and his possible connection to that most famous of Eastwood characters, but even though Ron and Clint were virtually the same age, he thought perhaps not.

After our very enjoyable morning in the pioneer village we bid adieu to our new Eastwood friends and headed off down the highway. However, before departing we noted that adjacent to the Pioneer Village was the most modern and well-maintained RV park we had seen since leaving Pahrump, Nevada. This knowledge should come in handy the next time we want to visit Marc in Carefree.

Our next stop was for lunch in the tiny outpost of Black Canyon, Arizona where we pulled into the parking lot of the Veterans of Foreign Wars meeting hall, and I walked over to ask permission for a lunchstop stay. As it happened, there seemed to be no veterans present, and so the resident barmaid and her coharts were comfortable giving us the go-ahead as long as we promised not to stay for a week. I told her that, cross my heart, we'd be gone in an hour or so.

After lunch we spent the rest of the afternoon cruising up Interstate 17 and enjoying the fantastic display of cloud formations being put on for our benefit. Even though we've seen some real "Duesies" when it came to cloud banks on our RV trips in states like Montana, Wyoming, and Colorado, today's incredibile formations put all those prior displays to shame. We saw literally every type of cloud formation imagineable from light, whispy strands of water vapor to black and angry-looking storm clouds full of chilling winds and rain. Billowing clouds, anvil-shaped clouds, towering clouds and scudding clouds filled our horizons in every direction. It was truly awe-inspiring!

Since we've been finding camps largely filled on the trip, we decided once again to call ahead and make a reservation. Concetta did the research and then called the KOA in Flagstaff and secured a site for the night, albeit one without a sewer connection. That means we'll have to use the dump station on our way out in the morning, which is somewhat inconvenient but not too onerous.

As we approached the camp I sudenly found the setting very, very familiar. Back in 1977 when Concetta and I took our very first vacation together, we camped for the night in Flagstaff in a tree-covered camp identical to the one in which we now have set up for the night. We were driving a largely worn-out 1964 VW bug with all our gear strapped to an aluminum roof rack that I had bought at a garage sale. Most of our soft goods were packed into my U.S. Navy sea bag and the roof rack also supplied space for our tent, poles, and other camping gear. I believe that the Coleman camp cooler with our food was probably on the back seat.

The camp here in Flagstaff was just tiny back then and I remember it was tough finding a "levelish" spot to pitch our tent. When we checked in today, I asked the host if the camp had been around in 1977 and she told me, yes, it had been established in 1967. I just know it's the same camp in which Concetta and I spent our second or third night on the road and began to sense that we were indeed meant for each other.

The other thing about this camp that I remember is when we packed up in the the morning, and prepared to leave, the VW refused to start. But Volkswagens were simple cars, and I told Concetta to get in the driver's seat, turn the key to start, and I would move the distributor first clockwise, then counterclockwise until the engine caught and ran. And that's exactly what happened. The engine eventually roared to life, I tighened the bolt that held the distributor in place, and we hit the road in the direction of Albuquerque in the further pursuit of our adventure. Hours later the right front wheel would come close to falling off the axel, but then that's a story for another time and blog.

So ciao for now and we wish you exciting adventures of your own.

Day 4 -- Kingman, Arizona to Carefree, Arizona -- 185 Miles

One of the things you have to learn when you become a serious RVer is that your coach tends to be a very lightly-built, ruggedly-used collection of plastic parts and tender systems that seem to break at the most inopportune of times. We’ve had numerous breakdowns and minor disasters over the years which ran the gamut from a fracture,d awning support arm in the Dakotas and complete awning loss in Kansas, to multiple tire failures in Minnesota and total engine ignition failure in the upper peninsula of Michigan. Some breakdowns can be fixed with a good service manual and a bit of MacGyver talent, and some will require a talented Camping World technician to handle.

Most recently we spent much time and effort trying to get the coach tail lights and running lights to work which turned out to be just a simple burned out fuse.

Our latest failure happened as we were working on the blog last night. At one point I became aware that the water pump seemed to be running. That would be unlikely since we were hooked up to the camp water supply, but I got up to check out the control panel anyway. Once there, I immediately saw that there was an angry red light on the pump control switch even though the switch was in the “off” position.

With a sigh, I grabbed the locker keys and a flashlight and headed outside in the dark to have a look at the pump. Said device is about the size of a coffee mug and predictably located just far enough into the interior of the locker to make it hard to service.

Well, it was immediately obvious that I had a big problem as the pump housing was too hot to comfortably touch. With some effort I unplugged the only incoming wires that I could both reach and had a removable connection point. Still, after some minutes, the pump housing didn’t seem to cool off, so I retreated back inside the rig to drag out the manuals and do some searching.

My immediate goal was to find the appropriate fuse among the myriad of fuses in two separate locations on the truck body, so I grabbed the manual that came with the Ford chassis and set to work. Unfortunately, I found no pump reference in either the under-the-dash fuse box or the under-the-hood reference. Back out to the pump locker I went to see how hot the unit remained.

I didn’t actually smell anything burning even though the pump still seemed inordinately warm. I went back inside and began searching through the huge collection of onboard systems pamphlets that the previous owner had compiled into a binder and passed to me when we bought the rig. But still no luck.

It was at that point that I happened to glance up and notice the main breaker box on the kitchen wall that controlled things like the refrigerator, water heater, and air conditioner. Wondering if it might also control the malfunctioning pump, I dashed over and had a look. Wonder of wonders, I found the very fuse for which I had been looking. I yanked the fuse out and went over to the pump control panel and thankfully found the warning light extinguished.

Breathing easier now that I wouldn’t have to worry about the rig catching fire while we slept, I went once again with flashlight in hand, opened the locker, and put a hand on the pump body. Thankfully, the pump was still warm to the touch but not hot as it had been.

This morning I got up at 5:30 a.m. and immediately began searching for the nearest camping world. Gratefully, I found no less than three in the Phoenix area. After that I pulled up UTube and watched a video on how to change out an RV water pump. Naturally, the guy doing the video was filming his task in one of those rigs where lockers are size of an average-sized bedroom closet. While he was able to easily reach all the components, I don’t think I’ll be as lucky. Still it appeared to be doable.

When I finally went out this morning after breakfast to check on the pump it was indeed completely cold, indicating that I had indeed isolated it from power. At that point I set about breaking camp and putting away all the hoses, electrical hookups, and other paraphernalia. With the gear stowed, I then went to performed the last task before leaving, that of pulling the slide-out room sections back into position. That’s when the next “disaster” happened.

Apparently, when the malfunctioning pump continued to operate last night with the resultant water flow blocked, it refused to give up and proceeded to constantly wear down the truck’s battery in the process. When I hit the switch to move the living area slider back into its “traveling position” absolutely nothing happened. I checked the ignition key that’s required to be in the ON position to operate the sliders I immediately discovered that our battery was dead!

With a sinking heart I glanced around the rest of the camp in hopes of finding someone moving about who could bring a vehicle over and give us a jump start. Unfortunately, not a soul appeared. Since we had quite a journey ahead of us before we got to the nearest Camping World to replace our pump, time lost on ANYTHING might turn out to be a minor disaster.

Fortunately at that point I spied an elderly man working on his pickup a short distance away and I walked over to make his acquaintance. Turned out that Alan, whose hat proclaimed brotherhood in the 82nd Airborne Division, said he’d be happy to help once he perform a small job on “repositioning his camper unit,” he told me, as it had slid somewhat sideways.

Glancing fearfully at my watch, I agreed and trudged back to the rig. Once there, I noticed that Concetta had placed the trash bag on the doorstep and it was up to me to find a handy receptacle. In the process of finding a dumpster I asked directions from a passing dog walker who, upon seeing my Navy ballcap, was only too eager to guide me. In the process he told me that he had been a Crew Chief in the U.S. Airforce and turned to show me his U.S. Airforce T-shirt which I had missed up to that point.

My trash errand complete, I was nearly back to the rig when I noticed a man driving towards me in a pickup and I flagged him down with a request to give me a jump. The driver whose name was Kevin was only too glad to consent, and together we got the RV running in short order.

Finally on the road around 10:00 a.m., we set our course south on Arizona Route 43 towards Phoenix stopping only to top up the petrol tank. Our destination was the rural community of “Carefree” which lies about 40 miles north of Phoenix. Our drive was delightful and our vista was full of the most beautiful blue skies and fluffy billowing clouds that we had seen so far on the this trip.

When we finally arrived in the Neighborhood of Carefree, we sought out the Camping World outlet that the web advertised as being located nearby. Then, presenting myself at the front desk, I explained our difficulty with the pump and asked if a technician could come take a look at the model and capacity of the pump we had so that I might buy a suitable replacement.

Imagine my chagrin when the technician replaced the wiring that I had disconnected, replaced the fuse that I had pulled the previous night, and demonstrated to me that there was nothing whatsoever wrong with our onboard pump save the lack of expertise of the owner.

What I had done was forget that the pump ON switch was hooked in a three-way circuit and that I had forgotten that the word “ON” didn’t mean a thing if the pump had been switched on in the bathroom.

All I can say is it had to be simple brain-fade and we had never run into this problem before as we had always gone by the indicator light and had never paid attention to the word “ON” on the console.

So there you have it. Fortunately we had a great day just enjoying the scenery. We had a very enjoyable lunch in old-town Wickenburg on our way south. And we met quite a few wonderful and helpful fellow RVers in the process. This evening we met with Concetta's nephew at his home in Carefree and had an terrific dinner (I had fish and chips), lots of great conversation, and no small amount of recounting of great times gone by.

What matters to us in the end is not the miles on the clock, but the friendships and camaraderie we encounter on the journey. That's what RVing should be about. You might make mistakes. You might feel like an idiot. You might occasionally break things. But the best thing to do is to stay calm and enjoy the experience. Tomorrow's another day and it promises to be more beautiful than the last!p>

So, until next time, here’s wishing you great travels of your own.

Day 3 -- Pahrump, Nevada to Kingman, Arizona -- 155 Miles

Today we broke camp at our usual hour of nine a.m. and, after tanking up at only $5.09 a gallon, headed out of Pahrump and down Desert Highway Route 159 toward Las Vegas. With our history lesson on Wild Bill Hickock to entertain us, we set the cruise control and rolled along through the miles of desert talus slopes that had washed down from the surrounding peaks over thousands of years interrupted here and there by the occassional volcanic outcrop or cinder cone.

The day didn't promise anything in the way of historic sites, but didn't mind as we just love traveling through the desert. There's just so many aspects of nature to ponder, explore, and photograph. We love to try and pick out the various forms of flora like the yucca, the cholla, the ocatillo, and the Joshua Trees which cover the desert slopes outside our window.

Everyone is probably familiar with the stately form of the Joshua Tree with it's curved and uplifted arms and towering shaggy height. Seeing so many today I got to wondering why I had never seen a Joshua that was only a couple of inches in height, in other words, a juvenile plant. Naturally I decided that I just had to stop and photograph a baby Joshua Tree if I could find one.

So as our history DVD on the life of Wild Bill Hickock played in the background, I spent many miles scanning the desert for a glimpse of a junior verison of the revered plant.

In the end it was a sign for a rest stop at the intersection of the Cottonwood Canyon Road (photo above) that finally allowed me to photograph a baby Joshua Tree (see photo right of tiny plant next to the yucca). While I'm sure there must be even smaller versions somewhere along the miles and miles of roads we traveled today, this junior plant may be the smallest I've ever seen.

Our next stop was for lunch. For that occassion, as we were headed southeast out of Las Vegas on Route 43, we took the turnoff for Boulder City and stopped at the first available parking lot next to the highway. The lot happened to belong to the "Hoover Dam Lodge and Casino," but I guess they didn't mind sharing the overlook spot with us. At least no one came running over to demand we leave immediately.

Part of the reason I pulled into the parking lot there was that the expanse of asphalt afforded a view of Lake Mead, though the lake was a considerable distance away. Nevertheless, while Concetta started to prepare lunch, I walked the half mile out to the cliff edge overlooking the lake and snapped a few photos. The temperature was hitting a solid hundred degrees, and the sweat was dripping from under my hat, but I think the walk was worth it.

After lunch our only stop was at a roadside pullout which promised a fantastic view of the Colorado River valley. There I found a great plaque that offered the following basic information: "Over vast amounts of time, the Colorado River has carved its way through the rocks exposed in the black canyon. These ancient rock walls are made of volcanic lava."

"Geologists estimate the lava erupted between 15 and 20 million years ago. Under intense presssure and heat, molton rock was forced upward along the fractures in the crust of the earth. When the liquid rock reached the surface, it flowed out onto the landscape and hardened. These dark lava rocks form most of the steep cliffs and slopes of the inner canyons."

"The Colorado River established its present course about five million years ago accourding to geologists. Carving its way downstream, the water cut down through thick beds of sedimentary rock, sand, and gravel while leaving the harder volcanic rock behind."

The river follows a relatively gentle grade from the Grand Wash Cliffs at the east end of Lake Mead to the Gulf of California in Mexico."

On our way again, we spent the next couple of hours headed in the direction of Kingman, Arizona, where we intended to saunter into the KOA office there and grab a spot for the night. But surprise, surprise, our usual camp when in northern Arizona was 100% full and we had to launch into a search for a substitute. As you know, we almost never make reservations as we nearly always get a space. I wonder if this trip is going to be different for some reason.

Anyway, here we are at the "Sunrise RV Park" in Kingman which is conveniently located about thirty feet from the Insterstate. Fortunately they put us in the last row away from the crescendo of trucks rumbling by and maybe we will still be able to get some sleep tonight.

By the way, the sparkling green plant at right is just one I photographed while hiking out to the ciffs overlooking Lake Mead. I thought it was really great color for a desert plant.

Days 1 and 2 -- Carson City to Pahrump, Nevada -- 302 miles

Today the grand adventure begins again! Our plans were to head south to Tonopah, Nevada where we had made a reservation to stay the night at the local RV camp and that went off in fine style. We rolled out of our driveway around nine o’clock, congratulating ourselves for getting such an early start.

There was only one small hitch before we left – I had forgotten to unplug the rig from the ACn outlet, and we rolled about thirty feet with the cord dragging behind us before an “unfamiliar sound” alerted me to the goof. Once the cord was safely stowed, we gave leaving a second try.

The first thing we needed to accomplish was to get our propane tank topped off at the nearby Silver City RV Park. With only one person ahead of us that job was accomplished quickly, and we soon were headed north on Highways 395 and I580 to the junction of I580 and Highway 50 east.

After driving 50 some odd miles on Highway 50 we picked up the “Weeks Cutoff” until we intersected Highway 95 headed south and then we just settled back to enjoy the scenery that we hadn't experienced in quite a few years.

Leaving home is always difficult when you know you’re going to be gone for weeks and weeks. The all-important check-off list starts to rule your life. Do you have everything loaded that you’ll need? What did you take last trip that turned out to be unneeded? What tools did you forget to take last time that you really, REALLY needed? And so on.

We took most of the day driving the 156 some odd miles from Carson to Tonopah. As many of you know if you’ve followed along on our travel blog in the past, I seldom if ever drive more than that distance per day. If you try and pack in more miles, you necessarily miss a huge variety of interesting sites to explore. In addition, if you like to shoot as many photos as possible on your trip, you just can’t drive hundreds of miles AND pull over to grab interesting shots.

When we arrived in Tonopah our chosen RV camp turned out to be a little rustic, but since it was situated about mid-way between Carson City and the second day’s destination of Pahrump in southern Nevada, we decided that roughing it was just fine.

As fate would have it, we met the most interesting fellow traveler who pulled in about a half hour after we arrived and parked right beside us. This was great for two reasons, the guy – named Jamie – was driving one of those 10-wheel monsters that was so huge it blocked the afternoon sun that had been baking us on that western side. The second reason was that Jamie was so damn interesting to talk to that we sat with him and had cocktails for a good hour while we listened to his life story and related a bit of our own.

Jamie, as he told us, was Iranian and had been unfortunately given up for adoption when he was seven days old. His adoptive parents brought him to America where he grew up, as he put it, a good Catholic boy.

Being rather slender and very small in stature, Jamie decided at a very early age to become a racehorse jockey, which he did for a decade, making quite a name for himself and no small amount of money. 

In the end, Jamie got out of racing and went to college to become an electrical engineer. This specialty segued into a career as an aviation electrical specialist which he pursues to this day, Now he receives a paycheck both from the Boeing Company and the Air Bus Company.

But the most interesting thing Jamie revealed to us was that he has no permanent home. He drives his megalithic "home on wheels" from Montana to Arizona and back again as the weather dictates while maintaining his address of record in the state of Florida. Amazing!

After getting pretty light-headed over Jamie’s “special” straight vodka cocktails, we traded business cards and parted company, promising to keep in touch in the future. It turned out to be just an amazing encounter on the road of life.

This morning we rolled out of Tonopah after shaking hands with Jamie one more time, topping up the gas tank at about $6.00 a gallon, and setting our GPS (Concetta's cell phone) for Pahrump 146 miles away.

We soon rolled into Goldfield, just a wonderful place to drag out the camera and do some blog photo shooting. That done, we continued south only to almost immediately run into an extensive bit of road widening and paving with traffic only proceeding alternatingly one direction at a time.

But we weathered through well enough, especially since we were listening to a book on DVD of the life of the legendary Wild Bill Hickok whose name was actually “Jim.”

Turns out we didn’t know even a tiny percentage of Wild Bill’s life and his real story is vastly more interesting than what we learn in school. One part that especially enthralled us was when Hickok worked as a spy during the Civil War. He even risked passing himself off as a Confederate officer and got away with it.

Even with the many stops for construction today we still had time to have a tree-shaded lunch in Beatty, Nevada, a couple of sessions of rock-hounding, and multiple opportunities to shoot photos. Concetta and I just love accumulating interesting geology along the way and most often haul home at least a few score pounds of samples for our rock garden. If you’ve ever seen Lucille Ball and Desi Arnaz in the movie “The Long, Long Trailer,” you know what I mean.

Anyway, that’s all for now. I’ve got to go spruce up for our Anniversary dinner tonight. The restaurant is strictly white-tablecloth and separate silverware for everything on the menu. Hopefully it turns out well and I’ll fill you in tomorrow. Ciao and happy travels of your own!