Day 16 -- All day in Grand Canyon, Arizona -- No Miles

For RVers the worst thing that can happen is equipment failure while you're on the road. This morning I saw our nextdoor neighbor spread all his tools on his picnic table in, he told me later, a futile search for a couple of wire nuts. I was sorry to tell him that I don't carry wire nuts, either. He was trying to work on one of his two air conditioners that had suddenly quit.

As for Concetta and me, we've had numerous equipment failures during our ten years on the road. We've had our slideouts fail to, well, slide. We've had the automatic step refuse to go up or down. We've had our running lights and tail lights refuse to work, and when I tried to fix that problem, I accidently disabled the engine electronics. We've had the awning fabric rip off, the awning suppport structure fracture, and the miniature roll-out awnings over the slide-out rooms tear loose from the coach. We even had the exhaust pipe break loose from the frame of the coach and somehow get run over. When I got out to look, the coach rear wheels were actually sitting on the pipe. I had to borrow a motorized saw from a chap taking his lunch break nearby so I could shorten the exhaust pipe, wire it up, and get going again.

The most time consuming failure that that can happen is with your tires, especially since you have so many. On our very first RV trip, with our newly purchased RV, we only drove from Carson City, Nevada to Minneapolis, Minnesota before the tires started to fail. They looked ok before we left, but they had just been sitting too long in the previous owner's yard. In that incident, we not only had to buy six new tires, but we had to buy two new wheels as the spare was on the wrong wheel and we ruined one wheel when the tire went flat.

On a recent trip when we went all the way to Kitty Hawk, North Carolina, we had a rear dualie tire get shredded on the Interstate which required two matching new tires for that side. So we would have a complete set of new tires on the rear, we then bought two more tires for the other side. Then, some time later, we had another rear tire get punctured when I clipped a culvert at the Vicksburg battlefield site, and that required two new tires again. Since the last episode destroyed one of the first two new tires we bought, the untouched tire became the spare.

The key is to make sure you buy what's called a "basement model" RV so you have lots of room to take tools and other supplies along that you might need. Now that I've seen a person might need wire nuts for some emergency, I guess I'll start bringing those as well.

On this trip we have had excellent luck with our rig, and nothing of any note has gone wrong -- at least until today. But his morning, the very worst thing that could happen on the road happened in the middle of breakfast. Now you probably think the sewer tank overflowed as has happened to us in the past. Or you might think that one of the young elks that have been wandering the park here ate our water line. Or maybe, you might envision that a park attendant came by and told us we had set up in the wrong campsite. Nope, none of those things happened. No, what happened as I sat eating my shredded wheat with bananas and strawberries, was that Concetta went over to pour her morning coffee and found that the machine had made NO COFFEE.

Not willing to suffer the demise of such an essential piece of gear, after breatfast I did what I could to dissassemble the recalcitrant appliance and try to find out what had happened. I decided that since the machine had gotten hot but had not dripped water through the filter, it had to be the syphon that was at fault. I got a thin piece of wire and ran it down the syphon tube once I had removed the top cover. Then I put some more more water in the reservoir, plugged in the machine, and voiola, it worked!

We're not willing to count our chickens yet, and only a freshly brewed pot of coffee tomorrow morning will verify that the crisis is over.

As you can see by the title we spent the day in the Grand Canyon. The weather here is fantastic and it's neither too hot nor too cold. In times gone by, we've done a lot of walking along the cliff edge photographing all the beauty, but today we spent the morning listening to Ranger Annie tell us about the rock layers in the Canyon. You probably know that most of the canyon is sedimentary rock that has been layed down over many millions of years. If there was any igneous (volcanic) rock in the beginning it has all worn away now. And, according to Ranger Annie, there's just one cone-shaped outcropping near the lower reaches of the canyon that is composed of metamorphic (super heated and remelted) rock.

Of course we couldn't leave the Grand Canyon without buying a t-shirt for Tom. Though we've encountered very few t-shirts for sale on this trip that are 100% cotton, this time we got lucky. And guess what t-shirt subject we found? That's right, we found one that displays the various geologic strata in the Grand Canyon in case we might have forgotten Ranger Annie's lecture points.

After Annie's lecture, we made our way back to the Blue Line shuttle and rode all the way around to stop 7, Trailer Village, the RV camp where we've been staying. It was time to rest a bit and have a quiet lunch.

We remember fondly the days when we came to the Grand Canyon and spent much of the day walking the path that runs for long distances along the cliff edge, taking photos, and reveling in the achingly beautiful view. But coming to the Grand Canyon as seniors can readily serve as a reminder, as you watch the youngsters in their heavy backpacks, sturdy boots, and floppy hiking hats pass by, that your body is only Grand Canyon fit for a very short period of time. Before you know it, time has relegated you to the benches that line the trails. Thank goodness the Canyon remains as beautiful as ever!

But one important thing has not changed over all the years we've spent time here. People from all over the world come to the Grand Canyon and stand with the same awe in their voices and the same sense of magnificence on their faces. Today we heard smatterings of Japanese, German, one of the Scandanvian languages along with Spanish (from Spain we thought), and many others we didn't recognize. While sitting near the restroom waiting for Concetta, a black family passed me speaking what sounded like an African language. When we got on the completely full shuttle to head back to our camp, two men from one of the eastern European countries jumped up and gave us their seats. The Grand Canyon seems to unify the world's people better than any other attraction. May it ever be so!

Day 15 -- Tuba City to Grand Canyon Village RV Park -- 89 Miles

So far on this vacation we've had some truly red-hot luck. Last night, for instance, we got the very last RV spot at Tuba City's Navajoland RV park when we really hadn't expected to be so lucky. This morning we got up early so we could visit the Wells Fargo Bank when they opened at 9:00 a.m., grab some bottled water at the Dollar Store, then gas up the rig by 9:30, and finally head off for the Grand Canyon with an eye toward arriving about the time they'd let us have our camp spot.

Guests are not allowed to check in until noon, and we arrived about 12:15 p.m. The thing was, Concetta had succeeded, through some more towering luck, to secure two nights in the Grand Canyon RV Park, which is most often booked up for months in advance. And even though the reservation was for two different sites, when we arrived today the ranger at the park entrance agreed to combine our two reservations into just one camp spot. More amazing luck.

On the down side, I just got back from walking to the Grand Canyon Village market for some groceries and reminded myself just why I don't make long-distance hikes anymore. Our site is probably only a quarter of a mile from the store, but my 75-year-old muscles just kept asking me why I didn't wait for the shuttle bus that stops at the RV park every thirty minutes.

So we've secured two nights in this paradise of a camping area. We have a whole heard of elk youngsters for what the camp manager in National Lampoon's "Vacation" movie called "wildlife fun." The sun is shinning, the breezes are cooling, and everything is right with the world!

There's only one tiny problem with the camp location we've encountered so far. When I attached the surge protector to the 30-amp electrical connection for our site, the little darling told me that the circuit had an open ground and I shouldn't use it. So, we're making do with 110 volt power for the time being. We're not running the air condtioner, so we'll probably be alright for the duration.

But, we're not the only ones having good luck. This morning Concetta and I knew we'd be a tad early for our Grand Canyon RV Park check-in, so we pulled into one of the Grand Canyon overlooks, parked the rig in a level spot, and set about wasting an hour. We strolled around snapping photos and enjoying the view, but eventually came to sit on a low wall oposite some French motorcycle riders who were getting ready to leave.

We didn't learn they were from Grenoble, France, until the motorcycle riders had sped away and left two of their friends there. The couple was driving a rental car, a Ford Mustang convertible. As we sat on the wall trying to make out what the man and a woman were saying since the man had just opened the hood of his car and was peering into the engine compartment with a look of concern on his face

Finally, couriosity got the better of me, and I went over and asked what the problem was. Well, the man spoke enough English to let me know that their battery was dead, and they were uncertain what to do. I told the guy, whose name turned out to be Oliver, that I had a set of jumper cables in the rig, but he would have to find someone else to jump from since I couldn't block the entire width of the rest area with the 32-foot rig as I tried to get next to his car to run the cables.

Amazingly, Oliver quickly found a nearby Jeep owner to provide a healthy battery, and in short order we had the Mustang's engine going, and all of us were grinning from ear-to-ear. After that, Concetta suggested that we get a photo of the couple, and Oliver invited me to sit in the driver's seat of his Mustang for the photo.

Tomorrow our plan is to grab the park shuttle when it comes to call here at the park and ride it around the Grand Canyon area. The shuttles are free and are a hop on/hop off sort of arrangement. We've done it before and it really works well. Naturally, since this is our third visit to this totally magic place, we have probably seen and done the things that are doable short of doning backpacking gear and heading for the floor of the canyon. Still, I'm sure at least some things have changed since last time and some exhibits will have been refreshed.

One of the great mysteries about the Grand Canyon is how the Colorado River made a drastic right turn and carved its way into the upthrusted Colorado plateau when the river would have been much lower in elevation than the uncarved plateau. From the book I just recently read, one theory is that there might have been a deep lake in the plateau and the water pouring from that body down the face of the uprisen block of the plateau carved a channel that the Colorado River intercepted and overpowered. Subsequently the Lake's Channel flow was reversed and the drained lake served as a breach in the plateau's continuity. At least that's how I understood the book on my nightstand.

Day 14 -- Holbrook to Tuba City, Arizona -- 152 Miles

Today we made our best decision yet! Last night, having decided to go north into Utah, we needed to select a route that wouldn't require us to go all the way back to Flagstaff. In studing the map, we could see that Arizona Route 77 went north from just east of our camp at Holbrook, intersected Arizona Route 264 near the village of Jeddito, and headed west for Tuba City without any backtracking or needless miles. It was perfect!

From the start, our plan was to intersect Arizona Route 89 and head for Lake Powell. But about mid-day, totally on a whim, I asked Concetta to contact the RV camp in the Grand Canyon village again to see if they had a space yet. We had contacted them days ago and found that the RV park was totally booked. Miraculously, when Concetta called this time they gave her a site for tomorrow night, and we were just elated. Only one problem, we had no place to stay for tonight.

Concetta immediately went on line to see if Tuba City could accomodate us, and it looked like the camp at Navajoland RV Village had only twenty spaces so she didn't think we'd be able to get a spot. We decided to just see what we could turn up along the way, and we just kept heading for Tuba City. In the meantime, I kept stopping the RV every few miles to get a shot of all the fabulous desert vistas and boulder-strewn cliffs.

When we reached Tuba City, we rolled over to Navajoland, parked in the back adjacent to the RV sites, and I walked into the office to throw myself on their mercy. We were prepared to just dry camp if they were full, but if they would allow us to park in the picnic area or somewhere similar we'be be happy. I approached the desk, the Navajo clerk smiled at me, and I asked if per chance they had space for the night. I told her I had no reservation.

The clerk looked studious for a moment as she studied the computer screen. Then she looked up. "I have one "pull-through" left," she said, "if that would be okay."

"Absolutely," I said, and the deal was struck. We got a nice space beneath a cottonwood tree. The sewer intake was located a little far from the truck, but everything else was perfect.

At this point, with our one night in the Grand Canyon assured, I decided to push our luck one more time. I asked Concetta to contact the Grand Canyon office and reaffirm our reservation. I also suggested that while she was at it, why not see if there had been any cancellations for Saturday night so we could have a full day in the park to tour around.

In the meantime, I got the rig set up, the brand new awning extended, and all the utilities working. By the time I got back inside Concetta said, "You're not going to believe this, but we got Saturday night, too. While I was on the phone, I had the Park preson check to see if there had been any cancellations recently, and she told me that one had just popped up. She immediately put it on hold and we got it!"

Well, now that's an incredible piece of luck. Reservations at the Grand Canyon often require a year's advance notice. Now we can spend all day Saturday enjoying one of the most beautiful places on earth and not have to feel rushed. Come Sunday morning, we'll exit the park via the east entrance, the same way we came in. Then we'll head north passing through Tuba City and make our way toward Lake Powell. Perhaps we'll even make a reservation at Lake Powell in the meantime.

And now back to today's driving and the reason I felt our rustic route across the Navajo and Hopi reservations of northern Arizona was unparalleled in it's 19th century frontier feeling, its geologic beauty, and its lightly traveled roads. The most unexpected aspect of the drive was the occassional appearance of livestock wandering along the highway. We saw wild and domestic horses both on the highway and grazing outside fenced enclosures. We also came upon a whole heard of sheep crossing the highway and bunching on the roadsides.

Naturally, being the closet geologist that I've always been, the landscape was my favorite part of the day. Weathered sandstone cliffs, often fractured into giant blocks the size of our RV, were on full display and marching away to the horizon. It was all I could do to contain my excitement and thankfully, Concetta let me stop in some pretty precarious spots so I could jump down and dash away into the sagelands to grab another photo.

In addition to all the great geology, I had great fun finding plants to photograph. Included in my day's finds were an example of "Perky Sue," otherwise known as Tetraneuris acaulis, a member of the sunflower family. It looks like your average daisy with yellow petals and a yellow center. I shot some "Purple Aster," which has light purple petals surrounding a dusky yellow center. I saw more of the "Silvery Lupine" that I have seen just about everywhere this trip. It has loads of small purple flowers and an erect stem about 8 inches tall. I saw some "Mormon Tea" today which, quite unexpectably, was bursting with yellow flowers. Our Mormon Tea plant in Nevada has NEVER had flowers in the 45 years it has been living in the back yard.

One of my very favorite plants that I've seen on roadsides since we arrived in Arizona is called the "Narrowleaf Yucca," or "Spanish Bayonet." It looks just like the yucca I grew up with in southern California except the "bayonets" are very, very slender. Ever since I first started seeing them, I was desperate to locate a plant that still had a few seed pods available from last year's production. Up to now I've had no success. The reason is the seed pods normally, almost exclusively, open upside down so the seeds fall out. But today I located two plants where the pods had accidently opened facing upward, and the seeds hadn't fallen out. Now I can try growing my own in Nevada.

There's one thing about the desert that most people miss. If you take your time, wander the roadsides or fields near your camp, you can see some wondrous things like plants you've never seen before, rocks that speak of millions of years of earth's history, or historic routes and structures that may soon disappear. One of the best books I have in my collection is one entitled (something like) "Look Beneath Your Feet." It's meant to be a mesage to photographers and advises the them to pay attention to what lies at sidewalk level. There's just oodles of things down there few ever see.

The photo at left shows a plant I photographed today, and at first couldn't find in any of my field guides. I meant to photograph the whole plant, but all I got was the spent flower blooms. But I think I've finally found it on the internet. It's called Fourwing Saltbush and botanically called Atriplex canescens). The male and female plants look completely differenct and, by accident, I managed to photograph both sexes. This photo is of the female plant I believe.

We wish you informative and exciting travels of your own!

Day 13 -- Gallup, New Mexico to Holbrook, Arizona -- 139 Miles (at least)

This morning, much to our surprise, it wasn't raining on our camp in Gallup, New Mexico. It's pouring rain now as I type this, and it has been raining off and on all day. But this morning we were able to break camp and head down Route 66 in the direction (sort of) our intended point-of-interest for the day, the Hubbell Trading Post on the Navaho Reservation, under sunny skies repleat with fluffy white clouds. No, I'm not kidding. It really happened.

I was in a really good mood as we set out. I knew what roads I needed to take to reach our destination, and I told Concetta not to fire up her evil GPS on her iPhone. Her GPS has a mind of its own, and it insists on sending us in the right direction but on obscure routes that are not always suitable for our lengthy rig.

I knew that all we needed to do this morning was drive Route 66 west until it interesected Arizona Route 191 north. Route 191 would take us within a couple of blocks of our objective in the town of Ganado, Arizona. If Route 66 didn't go as far as Route 191, we had the option of seguing over to Interstate 40 to do the job.

When we had gone just a couple of miles on Route 66, the opportunity to take Interstate 40 presented itself and we went ahead and turned onto the ramp. It was at this point that Concetta revealed to me that she had gone ahead and programmed her iPhone to guide us. I told her we had no need of the device, but as long as it was on and giving us directions I knew to be correct, we'd leave it on.

That's when the damn thing started feeding her bogus information that caused me to start second-guessing my memorized directions. Almost as soon as we had gotten up to speed, the GPS demanded we get off Interstate 40 and take an obscure New Mexico rural road labeled 118. I'm not sure why I let it lead me astray, but I did as it requested.

Then to add insult to injury, the device demanded that once we were on Route 118 (which isn't even on our paper map) we should reverse direction and go east again. With a heavy sigh, I did as the device demanded. Very soon we had to drive under Interstate 40 and head north on 118 as the pavement narrowed, and the signs of civilization became fleetingly rare.

So there we were, miles from our intended direction or destination, headed north instead of west for some unknown reason, and we couldn't even find ourselves on the paper map. Since rural route (and I mean RURAL) 118 winds aimlessly around the Navajo Reservation providing access to families on the New Mexico frontier, we weren't even sure if we'd end up having to retrace our steps to get us out of the jam the GPS had caused.

Naturally, the Rural Route 118 may not have existed on any maps, but it did eventually T-bone into New Mexico/Arizona Route 264 that would eventually take us to Ganado, Arizona where we'd find the trading post. Not that you can't excuse the infernal device by saying, well, it took us on the fastest route? That would have been completely untrue. Well, maybe it took us on the most scenic route? That also would have been untrue. The only positive thing the GPS accomplished is it took us through the town of Window Rock, Arizona, which looked interesting, and we had never been there before.

After lunch, when we had visited the Hubbell Trading Post, taken dozens of photos, talked about Navajo code talkers with the staff, and and bought a cool book on the tragedy that was the Navajo "Long Walk," we took my original intended morning route on Arizona Highway 191 and, it was very straight and very scenic and got us back to the Interstate quickly. Sigh!

By note of explanation, I have been reading a book entitled "Code Talker," by Navajo Pacific theater soldier, Chester Nez and ghost writer Judith Schiess Avila. In the book, Chester thoroughly details what it was like growing up in the reservation areas we've been visiting as well as the hardships he endured when he was plucked from his family setting and bused off to boarding school to be forced to Americanize.

Chester's life was very hard at the boarding school staff were extremely harsh with the native children. They were expected to take on a anglo-style name, learn to speak English, and were punished if they spoke their own language or mispronouced English words.

But Chester was not so easy to bully. He actively took on the challenge of learning English, and he learned it so well that when he was a young adult he qualified to become a United States Marine as well as a Navajo Code Talker. Code Talkers had to have perfect proficiency in both English and the Navajo language in order to qualify. Two thousand Navajo tribesmen applied, but only 30 were selected to become Marines and be shipped to the Pacific Theater to both fight and to practice their special assignment.

As for the Hubbell Trading Post we wanted to visit today, I'm going to just include Wikipedia's rundown on the importance of the business:

"The history of the trading post begins in approximately 1874, when Anglo-European trader William Leonard established a trading post in the Ganado Valley. Using “squatter’s rights”, Juan Lorenzo Hubbell purchased the Leonard post and later filed for a homestead claim. In 1878, John Lorenzo Hubbell purchased this trading post, ten years after Navajos were allowed to return to the Ganado region from their U.S.-imposed exile in Bosque Redondo, Fort Sumner, New Mexico. This ended what is known in Navajo history as the "Long Walk of the Navajo. It was declared a National Historic Landmark in 1960."

Of course everyone has seen the importance of trading posts to both the Indians and the settlers in the old west via Hollywood movies. Even the frontier military relied on trading posts. But nowadays there are few opportunities to visit such establishments, either still functioning or as museum resprestations.

So Concetta and I were very much excited to visit the Hubbell Trading Post and view the preserved history there. We even got to see a young Navajo woman doing traditional weaving which we found totally fascinating. Various rooms in the trading post held antiques as well as craftwork for sale. There were so many exciting and interesting things about the trading post that we didn't know which direction to look first.

Since rain has been following us around for many days, today was no exception. However, the rain seemed to be half-hearted when it arrived in mid morning, and we didn't mind driving the wet roads. But once we had parked the rig and visited the trading post, then returned to the RV for lunch, the heavens opened up and water poured down creating a scene that Noah would have recognized. Almost instantly, the dirt parking lot was turned into a giant quagmire, and it would have been impossible to walk back to the trading post without getting extremely wet and muddy.

Then, almost abruptly as the downpour had begun, the spigot was shut off somewhere, and the rain ceased. I was able to grab the camera and go exploring. And if I stayed to the more rocky terrain, I didn't even get very muddy. One of the places I visited then was the Visitors Center where I took many photos of all the displays. After that, I worked my way over to the barn and captured a few photos.

Once I arrived back at the rig and removed my wet and (slightly) muddy shoes, we put away our lunchtime supplies and got ready to leave. The experience at Hubbells had been truly memorable including the lesson we received from two ladies behind the sales counter who gave us some examples of the spoken Navajo language. The younger girl was a college student, and the older woman was employed during the school year as a college guidance counselor.

As we motored down the trading post drive toward Route 264, I knew that all we had to do was drive about a mile, then jump on Route 191 south toward Interstate 40. But I knew that the precocious GPS was not done with us since it was still activated. We had only just left the trading post drive when the GPS demanded we take a right turn on some skinny, wandering burro track. But, I held my course and ignored her instructions. Moments later we turned right on Arizona Route 191 and headed south, secure in the knowledge that Ms. GPS had failed to distract us.

But, almost as soon as we had rolled up the onramp for Interstate 40, the GPS started whinning about the need for us to take the next exit and travel on the frontage road. I ignored her, and we kept to the Interstate. Yet every few minutes as we approached a new overpass, the GPS would frantically try to get us to exit and follow her instructions. But it was no soap. I had learned my lesson, one all of us overland travelers should heed: listen to the GPS, but check everything on the road atlas.

As we traveled Interstate 40 toward Holbrook, and our reserved campsite for the evening, we came abreast of a constructon crew laying asphalt on one of the two traffic lanes over on the opposing side of the freeway. It was just a small crew, and the construction site looked small. But the effect of the closure of one lane of the Interstate was having catestrophic effects on traffic flow. As far as we could see to the horizon, hundreds and hundreds of cars and trucks were sitting motionless on the tarmac or creeping slowly forward.

This situation persisted for at least ten or fifteen miles and probably involved many hundreds of 18-wheelers and countless, if fewer, cars. I'd be willing to bet that the backup persisted for several hours and probably didn't end until dark.

Ultimately we rolled into the KOA camp about 3:00 p.m., and the sun was still shining as it had been from the time we left the Hubbell Trading Post. But, as I sat typing away here at my dinner table desk, we both heard a few drops begin to splatter on the roof, then a few more. Moments later another massive deluge like we had experienced during our lunch at the trading post dropped out of the sky and turned the whole camp to an inland sea. But just as quickly as it had arrived, the heavy rain fled and the scheduled outdoor dinner picnic at the KOA here was able to proceed as scheduled.

Well, that's our adventures for the day. It started out in complete chaos and ended up in tranquil serenity. To say I just love this lifestyle would be a huge understatement. Even though we traveled these highways in the past, we always manage to find a different town on a different exit and points of interest that escaped our interest the first time around. Tomorrow we don't have the slightest idea where we will end up, probably somewhere north of here. But stay tuned as it will always be fun.

Day 12 -- Durango, Colorado to Gallup New Mexico -- 172 Miles

It was raining like crazy this morning when it was time to pack up all the gear and leave the Oasis RV Resort in Durango. I knew all the hoses and cables and such were going to be soaking wet and icy-cold, but we needed to get moving if we wanted to make any miles today. Plus, we needed gas for the rig and groceries before we hit the highway.

Once outside I decided to dispense with flooding the black tank with fresh water after I drained it which I like to do to keep it extra clean. That would have required that I break out the extra hose and spend fifteen minutes hooking it up and checking the black tank as it filled. I'm usually pretty insistent on that chore, but today it just wasn't going to happen.

In terms of shopping, we already knew that the local Walmart was just minutes from camp in the direction of Durango, and we set off toward town as the rain pelted down incessantly. Once we rolled into the parking lot and found four spaces that we could occupy without inconveniencing anybody, we set off at a brisk pace for the door.

Inside, Concetta sought out the grocery isles and I made for the RV supply isle. When we became RVers, we soon discovered that Walmart has everything we needed for life on the road. You can get virtually anything from flexible sewer lines and wheel chocks to special toilet paper and water hoses right there.

Even though we hurried, it still took us an hour to finish our shopping. Once we had all our supplies stowed, we launched into the next chore of finding a gas station large enough to fit our 32-foot rig. Thankfully, as we exited Walmart's parking lot, we saw that there was a station right across the road. So we dashed over there and pulled up to a pump just behind a guy gassing up his pickup truck. So far so good.

Sometimes you can't get close enough to the pump nozzel for your fill location on the coach so you have to wait until the person at the forward pump finishes. But this time the filler hose reached just fine, and I quickly inserted my card, chose the grade of gas, and started to fill -- for about two seconds. Then, try as I might, I could not get the pump hose to keep filling. Getting back in the truck I waited for a time as the guy in the pickup continued to fill, and fill, and fill his tank. He never seemed to finish. Finally, in exasperation, I backed away and pulled around pickup guy and left the station

We remembered we had seen another station back up Route 160 the way we had come. When we arrived there, we discovered a much more spacious station with plenty of room and no one waiting. Once again I pulled opposite the pump, inserted my card, and tried to pump gas. And once again the nozzel refused to stay on.

Now I was really confused. I just couldn't figure out what was going on with the two stations. But then I accidently discovered that instead of pushing the nozzel in the filler outlet as firmly as I usually do, I pulled the nozzel part way out. Miraculously the gas started to flow! Who would have guessd that bit of gas-pumping nonsense.

Anyway, now we had to set off at a brisk pace as we hadn't gone a half dozen miles, and it was already eleven o'clock! We had exited Route 160 onto Route 550 to get to the filling station. Now we kept to Route 550, crossed Route 160, and headed south in the direction of Gallup, New Mexico where we fervently hoped to find more pleasant weather.

Our mission at this point was three fold: First, we had to find a postoffice to mail mother's day cards to our daughters-in-law without consumming too much time in the process; Two, we had to find a Wells Fargo Bank to deposit a couple of checks; and three, we had to find our way to Gallup using a selection of recommended routes without getting lost or arriving after dark. Pretty big order.

As it turned out, we managed two out of the three as well as finding a decent place to pull over and have lunch. We failed to find a bank on our side of the street, though we did see one with a tiny, non RV-friendly parking lot on the other side of Route 550.

So, we proceeded to spend almost the entire day in driving in all intensities of rainfall. The skies were voluninously studded with black clouds, often streaked with curtains of rainfall. But, we did manage to find the RV camp we had decided upon and managed to arrive at the exact moment when the rain had paused. Thankfully, I was able to do the outdoor setup without getting soaked.

In terms of photography, I only stopped once to try and grab a few shots even though the light was flat. You can see from the top photo what I'm talking about. On the other hand, I snapped the center photo on the roadside which is a "Silvery Lupine according to my new "Wildflowers of Mesa Verde" book that I bought at the Mesa Verde Visitors Center. Its botanical name is "Lupinus Argenteus," and it's in the Pea Family. I've been trying to find a handy selection of books for identifying the roadside flowers and plants we've been seeing, and I've begun to build a nice collection to that end.

The bottom photo I just now snapped when a miraculous shaft of sunlight suddenly illuminated my dinner-table desk where I sit writing this blog entry. Since I hadn't seen the sun all day, I threw on a jacket and dashed out to grab the shot and just barely made it before the sun edged behind a cloud again. Tonight our camp is USA RV Park in Gallup, New Mexico, and Navigator Concetta found it for us.

Our destination for tomorrow is, of course, undecided at this point. It could be east, west, or even south, but we're certain it's NOT going to be north since we're hoping to escape the seemingly eternal rain. So, until then, we wish you happy travels of your own!

Day 11 -- Durango & Silverton train ride the whole day -- 41 Miles

Today will be long remembered as the adventure that started in summer and finished in winter. Our saga began with Tom convincing our camp host that he should give us a ride from the Oasis RV Resort southeast of Durango, Colorado, in return for cash or, if they preferred, a dinner for he and his wife at the restaurant of their choice. All the host had to do was pick us up at 7:45 a.m. and deliver us to the Durango & Silverton train depot before boarding time at 8:30 a.m. Then, when the train returned from Silverton at 6:15 p.m. he'd pick us up again and return us to our RV. Miraculously the host, a good-natured chap named Henry, agreed to the deal, and we were all set.

The pickup proceeded exactly as planned, and thanks to Henry, Concetta and I arrived at the Depot with time to spare. I was able to buy a D&SNG t-shirt in all cotton and still have time left over to talk to folks in the waiting room. We chose a bench adjacent to the exit door, and a couple about our same age sat down next to us. The wife in this twosome spent much time hasseling her husband over seemingly inconsequential things. So, in response, he good-naturedly spent much of his waiting time wandering inside and outside the building.

Lacking someone to talk with (or at) when her husband was off wandering, the wife turned to me as I happened to be the one sitting right next to her. In quick order, I found out that we both had been married exactly 47 years to our partners. It turned out that Concetta and I were married in October 47 years ago, and this lady and her much-abused husband had married two months later. Amazing! But that wasn't all. It turned out that these two people who randomly selected our bench on which to sit and chat were Nevada residents as well, though they lived in Las Vegas.

And that was only the beginning of the amazing events that just kept happening to us all day. When the annoucement was made that the train was ready for boarding, we checked our tickets, found that we were assigned seats 29 and 30 in car 21, and we headed for the train. Our car turned out to be only three cars back from the engine.

The boarding didn't happen until well after the 8:30 stipulated boarding time. A member of the train crew told me that they needed to move some cars around, but didn't say why. I suspect that because it had started to rain heavily, they suddenly had need for more covered cars than had been originally anticipated.

When they finally announced that boarding was taking place, we made our way to our assigned car, climbed aboard with the help of one of the conductors, and easily found our clearly-marked seats. We were seated about five rows back from the front and four of the seats in front of us were destined to remain empty.

Seated on the other side of the car, and about four rows ahead, was an elderly gentleman from Minnessota named Richard who had as his constant companion an oxygen tank the size of a backpack. Because we were both veterans and were wearing ball caps that acknowledged that fact, we had hit it off immediately in the waiting room. Now, since we were seated so near, he swiveled around and gave me a wave.

Throughout the journey I would go over and sit near him and we'd chat about our service time. He was a jet mechanic about the same time I was in the service. He was working predominately on A6 Intruders (I think he said). He also worked on F4 Phantoms. In his non military career he spent 34 years as an electrician.

Seated behind us was a very nice couple, and naturally we fell into conversation just for something to do as the train chugged along at a sedate twenty-five miles an hour. When I mentioned that I was from Southern California and had lived in Altadena, the city that had been largely destroyed by the recent fire, the wife perked up, smiled, and said that she had lived and worked in Altadena as well, and that in the 1980s she had been a deputy sheriff there.

Incredibly, when I told the couple that I had lived on Loma Alta, the woman whose name was Stephanie, told me that she knew Loma Alta very well and that her favorite thing to do was to park near the top of Lake Street where it joined Loma Alta and hike to Mount Lowe in the San Gabriel Mountains. How's that for us living in a small world.

At first I tried shooting photos through the train windows at the wonderful Animas river that raged far below the railroad right-of-way. Finally, I followed Stephanie and her husband, Roger, out to the open-air car and shot the river without the impediment of glass to get in the way. I guessed that Stephanie and Roger must be outdoor people as long after I came k to my seat, they remained in the open-air car just enjoying the beauty of the forest.

At one point when I was back in the open-air car and a older man approached me as he heard me talking to Stephanie and Roger and figured, I guess, that I might know a lot about traveling. He turned out to be from Norway and his English was fair. Even so he got me to understand that he and his group of four Norwegians wanted to visit Arches National Park and he needed advice about where he could drive and what he could see. He kept thrusting a map at me that I could barely make out without my glasses.

The problem was we had never traveled to Arches National Park, and I had no idea about roads or trails or what you could do or not do. I kept tring to tell him that, but he didn't seem to want take my inability to help him as fact. Then I remembered that Stephanie and Randy, who now live in Bend, Oregon, perhaps had traveled through Arches. Well, that was the best idea I had as the two of them could reliably advise my new Norwegian friend and agreed to do so.

The good news about train travel at twenty-five miles an hour is you get to know half the passengers without really trying. Everyone is looking for things to do to while away the hours and a friendly smile will often get you into a long-term conversation

I love trains and that's no lie, but I'd have to advise anyone taking the Durango & Silverton train that they're in for a great deal of sitting. Our train pulled out just after nine o'clock and didn't get into Silverton until nearly one o'clock. Naturally, when your train is being pulled by a steam engine, you have to take into account the fact that stops to fill the tender with water are a necessity. We stopped twice.

Additionally, we suffered an unplanned stop when the engineer discovered that his track-sanding machinery was not functioning. Since we were experiencing a great deal of rain, the rails were slick, and the engine couldn't get any traction. This malfunction caused the train a thirty-minute delay.

So, we were four hours on the way, and it seemed to me like an eternity. The seats on the narrow-gauge cars are just not quite wide enough for two people. Thankfully, the train crew lets you wander the cars as you please as long as you don't try to stand on the connecting platforms between the cars, or enter the 1st class cars that are reserved for high-paying guests.

Once we arrived in Siverton, we had about an hour and a half before the departed. Several hundred tourists immediately descended on the area restaurants enmass. We chose a restaurant called Natalia's, which seemed to be closest to the train arrival area. Starting with high hopes, we ordered the fish and chips, and it arrived so fast at our table they must have cooked it the day before and just microwaved it to life when we ordered. I ate most of mine, but Concetta was unable to stomach hers. I gave her a granola bar to on which to munch.

After lunch, We visited several shops within walking distance then returned to the train boarding area. Just before the official bordering warning of four whistle blasts from the locomotive, I wandered around the rail yard for a few photos while Concetta found her seat aboard.

Soon we were on our way back to Durango with not much in the way of cheery sunlight to accompany us. The real surprise came when we had only traveled a short distance, not even to the first watering stop, when it began to snow lightly. Then, as we traveled further south, the snow began to fall more heavily. Before long, it turned into a regular blizzard. By that time most of the folks trying to tough it out in the open cars had retreated to any available empty indoor seat, but some of us used the blizzard to grab a few photos.

The rest of the ride into Durango was pretty uneventful, and we arrived on time at about 6:15 p.m. Just after 6:30 Henry appeared in the parking area to pick us up. When we had hopped into his Honda, he announced that he and Terry had decided not to go to dinner so I slipped him the agreed-upon cash, and off we went back to the RV park. It was the end of a long day, one that was not always successful or pleasant, but one that we will surely remember for many years.

Day 10 -- Cortez to Durango, Colorado -- 51 Miles

Today our destination was a short hour away, but an action-packed hour it turned out to be.

Just down the road from our camp in Cortez lay the entrance to the historic Mesa Verde National Park where 900 years ago the ancient ancestors of the Puebloean Native Americans lived in mud and stone dwellings high up on the sandstone cliff faces. In our younger days, Concetta and I drove to the top of the mesa where we could take the trails to the cliff dwellings. While there, we were privileged to climb recreations of the ancient wooden ladders that the Natives used to climb to the cliff cavities. We climbed and explored the ancient dwellings ourselves.

Well, those ladder-climbing and exploring days are long gone. Today we contented ourselves with the vistor's center where Concetta closely studied the various exhibits, and I purused the book displays for anything pertaining to Colorado's flora. When we're exploring roadsides for desert plants and wildflowers, we just love to try and identify the various plants we find.

When we're traveling, I always wear my U.S. Navy ballcap because it seems to prompt complete strangers to approach me for a chat. Today was no different as a couple stopped me in the gift shop and asked about my Navy service time. The man and woman told me that they were BOTH U.S. Navy people, he during the gulf war, and she a spent time as a medic (I didn't find out where). We had just the nicest conversation for ten minutes and parted like we'd been friends for years. Great fun!

The other thing I was trying to find was a Mesa Verde T-shirt that was 100% cotton, which seems to be harder and harder to find nowadays. Over the last dozen years I have purchased such a t-shirt from most of the cool places we've visited, and now my collection probably numbers better than two dozen. But just as happened in the last several of our stops, no such 100% cotton t-shirts were to be purchased at any price. Darn!

Concetta spent her time not only intensively studying the diaramas and other displays, she also took quite a few photos of them. You can see several of those photos in the blog for today. I found just the perfect book, "Wild Flowers of Mesa Verde," to buy. And, since the store had an extensive collection of books devoted to all aspects of Native American cutlure, I purchased a book co-written by the last Navajo code talker still alive. I've been trying to read a book by Joseph Heller, but it's been putting me to sleep so I needed something to replace it.

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When our visit to Mesa Verde was over, our next task was to find a propane fillup station for our RV's tank. Here we got luckier than my t-shirt-buying failure as right across Route 160 from Mesa Verde was an RV camp that came complete with a propane filling station. So we rolled right over there, stopped at the office, and arranged to get an immediate fillup.

This seemingly boring routine resulted in my meeting a truly interesting 68-year-old man who came to fill the tank. He was so personable that we immediately got into a conversation about our work history, our retirement activities, and life in general. Turns out that Ricky was born and raised in Long Beach, California and worked his whole career for none other than Cisco Systems, the company that produces such gear as computer routers. Naturally, I told him about my career in computer support, and we had a high old time chatting about the computer business.

Next we switched to our respective retirements, and I learned that he got bored being retired so now he travels the country working as a maintenance man for RV parks. He told me it keeps him busy, happy, and healthy. He said that if it develops that he doesn't like how a park is being run, or he has problems with the other personnel, he just moves on. One humorous thing he told me was that he had to stop putting his Cisco Systems work history on his applications because the camps expected free computer help even after he told them he gets $150 an hour for such help.

Once again I was very grateful for all the people I meet on the road in America. Each and every person I encounter has an interesting story to tell, maybe more than one. The camp host last night didn't exactly strike me as the camp-host type, so I asked him about his history. Turned out that he was a carpenter and home builder. He said he builds homes until he needs to take it easy for awhile, then he and his wife travel the country being camp hosts. When he gets tired of hosting, he applies for a carpenter job wherever he happens to be living and he runs a nail gun for awhile. Amazing!

Our prime objective today once we got to Durango was to see if there was any hope of obtaining train tickets for the Durango and Silverton train trip. I was under the impression that one must buy tickets at least a year in advance to have any hope of success. Still, the camps have been so lightly populated with RVs that we thought there might be the smallest chance of buying a couple of tickets.

Downtown Durango is a pretty small and crowded area to drive a thirty-two foot rig through, but we decided to risk it. Concetta navaigated us right to the temporary parking area for ticket buying. I asked her to jump down, take the credit card with her, and see what success she might have. In the meantime, I nervously blocked all the temporary ticket-buying parking spaces so no one could buy tickets but us -- at least for a few minutes.

Pretty soon Concetta emerged from the Depot with a smile on her face, and announced that she had been successful. She was able to purchase two tickets for ride on the 5th of May. She jumped back in the rig, and we were off before any officers of the law noticed that we were a menace to the ticket-buying public.

The camp that my Navigator (Concetta) found for the evening was located about seven miles southeast of Durango which turned out to be easy enough to find. But our major discussion along the way was just how we were going to make sure we arrived at the train depot at or before 8:30 a.m. Would we have to hire an Uber or a taxi? Or would we find an RV park resident who was going as well. We knew the latter was extremely iffy, and we'd never taken an Uber before, so I approached the office with a great deal of park trepidation.

Before I reached the door, an older chap on a golf cart rolled up and asked me if I had a reservation, and if so, what site number was I given. I told him I had no reservation and would need to secure a site for the next two nights. It was at that point that a light bulb went off in my head and out of the blue, I asked the guy, whose name turned out to be Henry, if he would be interested in a side job? What sort of job Henry asked. Well, I told him, I'd like to hire him to take us to the train depot at 8:00 a.m. the next morning.

When I say Henry looked skeptical, that would be an understatement. Finally he said, "Well, I have to be at work at eight." I told him thanks anyway and moved toward the door. Unexpectably, Henry got out of the golf cart and came with me.

When we both got into the office, the clerk was on the phone with a potential client, so I turned to Henry and asked him if I could hire him to take us to the depot at seven or seven-thirty so he could be back to work on time. At that point Henry's interest seemed to perk up a bit, so I added that I would pay him for the ride to and from the depot.

The clerk got off the phone then and she proceeded to check us in. I asked her about rides to the depot while mentioning that I had offered to pay Henry to take us and bring us back. The clerk, who turned out to be Henry's wife, Terry, looked at him quizically and mentioned that Henry didn't really start until 11:00.

A bit flustered, Henry mumbled something about being wary of taking the job so he told me that he started at eight. But now that he'd thought about it he'd decided to take me up on my offer.

And to sort of cement the deal I decided to throw a bit of wifely pressure into the deal. I turned to Henry and said, I'll tell you what, if you bring Terry when you come to pick up us up, Concetta and I will buy you both dinner in town so Terry doesn't have to cook.

Henry sort of protested that the cost would be prohibitive. But I responded that he and Terri would be doing us a huge favor, and we considered buying them dinner the very least we could do.

At that point we left off further discussion and Henry guided us to our camp spot and helped us back in. In parting, I reiterated my suggestion of dinner just to give him something to think about. But at least for the time being, I think we can count on Henry to pick us up from our camp and deliver us to the train depot on time, and that's a huge load of our minds. We haven't ridden the Durango and Silverton in many, many years, and I hope it proves to be as fun an adventure as we've had in the past.

Ciao for now and happy travels of your own!