Winter 2015 RV Adventures

Barstow, and Beyond

 

Anne hooked us up with the Barstow Calico KOA, located a few miles east of

Barstow central. The RV Park was just a few blocks off of I-15. We were settled in by 2:30pm. This KOA is a most well-furnished park. There is a well laid out tent area, complete with safari tents, set up and ready for a large group; individual tent sites, each with a fire pit, table, and pent angular sunshade; nicely shaded pull-through hookup sites, cleanly furnished bathrooms and showers, and a large fenced area corralling all kinds of well-built children’s play structures.

On the western side of a line of trees, which provide shade for the tent area, is a campground archery range. At the far end of the range, past the 50 yard marker, there is a six foot high sand berm. Hay bales were stacked at the 20 yard marker. A picnic table is placed near the shooting line. This is the first opportunity I have had to do any shooting on the trip.

I have one storage bay devoted to archery and other project things. I gathered one of my wooden bows, quiver, arrows, wrist guard, string glove, and yes, a tinny, and headed for the range. I shot four, 16 arrow ends at the 20yard target. When I last shot, several weeks ago, my left elbow pained from the stress. I expected a similar reaction. I was happy not to feel anything. I hadn’t lost a lot of skill. My aim seems to have traveled well. 

Our plan was to put up for a few weeks at Joshua Tree National Park. However, Anne couldn’t locate an RV Park with a site available for our size of rig. She found, instead, a full hookup site in the San Bernardino National Forest, at the Serrano Campground, on the shore of Big Bear Lake.

California highway 247 took us 34 miles south of Barstow to Lucerne Valley. At this junction we crossed onto highway 18 to go into the National Forest. Highway 18 is not a happy road. For the last 10 miles we were climbing on a grade of from 8% to 16%. The road snaked around sheer cliffs. Curves were posted as slow as 10 mph. At the top we were

greeted by Big Bear City, boasting a population of over 6,000. I thought that to be pretty amazing. Big Bear City hosts a person for about every foot of elevation above sea level. In the last 24 hours we had gone from -282feet to 6,814feet.

The sky was a crisp blue. There was no dust haze in the air, or pollution.  The mile high air was brisk. There were patches of snow on the ground. After only one wrong turn, and a harrowing return to the highway through tight residential streets, thanks Dash Bitch, we soon found the entrance to Serrano Campground.  A narrow road led to the entry guardhouse where we checked in.

The attending Ranger had Anne’s reservation for Site #47 on the Snowberry RV Loop. She cautioned us to disconnect the toad before entering the RV Loop. The Ranger had been correct. The Snowberry RV Loop was narrow and pine forested. Anne led the way to the site and walked back to guide me clear of rocks and trees as I backed in. We are here.

After a small bit of adjusting of the hydraulic jacks on the paved slip, we were at our home for the nest week. A squirrel popped out of a hole beside the RV.  It nodded a brief welcome, and then it dashed back down into its warren.

By late afternoon the sky had clouded. The temperature was 42F. During the visit with the Ranger, she had said the mountain was expecting to get up to a foot of snow in the next couple of days. When Anne asked about driving back down with the snow, the Ranger responded with a short giggle. She said the park would be kept cleanly plowed, but we were going to be here until roads were once more clear. I guess it’s time for Death Valley Bob to change into some long pants, and put on the boots.

The RV features a residential heat pump for normal heating and cooling. This is ok when you are in a full hook up site, as we are at Serrano Campground. When you are dry camping, without hook ups, you can’t use the heat pump unless you are running the generator. The RV has two auxiliary heating systems; one is used just for the bathroom and bedroom, the other is a whole coach heater. Both use propane, which is a limited resource on the RV.

The first night at Serrano the temps dropped to the low 20’s. The heat pump wasn’t happy trying to suck usable warmth out of those near Artic conditions. We closed off the front of the coach and turned on the bedroom’s propane system. Several nights at these temperatures would leave us without enough propane to cook breakfast.

In the morning I looked up Big Bear City grocery stores on the GPS. I found a Von’s, and off we went. The prices at Von’s were very good, so we loaded up. At the neighboring hardware store I bought a 100w heat lamp, a 1500w portable space heater, and a small, foldup snow shovel. The heat lamp will keep the pipes in the outside water compartment warm, the space heater will keep the bedroom warm, and, I am hoping, the snow shovel will be a throw away.

 

Our RV experiences have been centered on driving away from the southern Oregon winters into warmer climes. Best intents aside, compost still happens, to wit, Serrano Campground in a snow storm. So, we learn to adapt.

            This morning we awoke to a cloudless, deep blue sky. During the course of breakfast we were treated to the sight of three Stellar Jays. They hopped around in the snow, foraged in the rusty, round steel barbeque pit, and pecked at fallen pine cones. With a beak to tip-of-tail length of 12”, these are good sized birds.

            The birds had just flown away, when we spotted a coyote cautiously passing our site. The coyote was carrying a squirrel in its mouth. The animal looked well fed and was probably in much better condition than the ones that serenaded us at Stovepipe Wells. The coyote kept a steady pace as it arched around the RV, giving us a wide berth. It kept its eyes straight ahead, but its tail hair appeared to be fluffed fuller than it should have been. I suspect the tail was displaying the coyote’s state of readiness for fight or flight.

             Anne completed the top for another quilt. She had also sewed an eye catching table

runner. She wanted to drive to Big Bear City and visit a fabric store. She needed to buy some complementary backing and batting for the quilt and runner. We queried the Dash Bitch and found a quilt store next to Kmart. On the way, I caught a couple of pictures of the lake. The city and ski slopes are in the background.

            Big Bear Lake was inhabited by the indigenous Serrano Indians for over 2,000 years prior to discovery by gold mining explorers in the mid eighteen hundreds. The Southern California gold rush, from 1861 to 1912, caused the population to swell. The lake’s name came from the Grizzly bears which habited the region until 1908. The San Bernardino National Forest was established in 1907. It had been recognized that the natural beauty of the region was being decimated by the logging of its vast stands of old growth timbers. Big Bear Lake is now a gemstone in this mountainous forest land. Serrano Campground is located on the north shore of the lake.

            After Anne finished her shopping, we drove around the lake. We discovered what a wonderful, and fun filled place this region would be during warmer summer days. Both sides of the road display countless numbers of very fancy, resort type homes. There are, smattered amongst the more wealthy, a large variety of well-maintained summer cottages. As we approached the south shore village, the business side of the lake came prominent. This is an entertainment haven, for all seasons. As we took in the sights, we agreed that one of the more stately homes must belong to the chainsaw artist who carved the bear figures. Featured as greeting totems at nearly every home and business is a wooden bear, waving, holding a sign, or pretending to be climbing a wall so it can have a look into a shop window.

There is an unwritten, yet awesomely predictable law regarding motoring large vehicles on mountain, or curvy highways. The law would read: If you are entering a curve, predictably a blind one with a precipitous cliff edge which overlooks an expansive valley hundreds of feet below, you will meet an oncoming vehicle, most probably a large truck, at the apex of the bend. No way, you say. Trust me. Take your forty foot behemoth, together with its twenty foot toad extension, on a weekend mountain excursion. Your jaw will drop.

Now, as you beg for sleep that night, wonder some what-if’s. What if I had been on the outside of that 10 mph curve? Would my combined sixty feet of length have been able to complete the corner without segmenting into a portion of the other lane at the apex? I know that on the inside, if I had turned any tighter I would have scrapped the side of the RV on the protruding stony edge of the bank.

We had spent a week at the Serrano Campground. Sunshine from the last couple of days had guaranteed we wouldn’t be driving on snow packed, or icy roads.  Anne and I decided we would not tow the CRV down the mountain from Big Bear Lake. Some of the corners had just been too tight.

The most convenient path to our next stop, Desert Hot Springs, was to go back the way we had come, and link up at Lucerne Valley. We kept in touch using walkie talkies. We had missed many of the vistas on the way up, likely due to the fact that they either weren’t observable, or because we were trying not to think about what was on the other side of that very small guardrail. On this sunny, Friday morning the sights were magnificent.

A short highway bypass between highway 18 and highway 274, took us past a sprawling solar farm. This extensive array just sat there, staring at the sun all day, collecting free energy. I can’t imagine how much power must have been generated. We stopped near the farm’s entrance and connected the CRV. The unwritten law about mountain driving had held true, but I was prepared for it.

It would take us a little more than an hour to drive to Desert Hot Springs. I had Googled RV parks in the greater Palm Springs area. Current events in the valley found the vicinity pretty well booked up. The Indian Wells Tennis Tournament is currently in-play, as is the Bob Hope Classic Golf Tournament. The Sands RV & Golf Resort offered first time visitors a nine day stay for the price of one week. This cost was the best rate in the valley, so I booked us in. Driving to the Palm Desert region, the flora changed significantly. Cactus became prominent. I know there is a botanical tie to the name which was given to the region, but there may also have been another reason it is called the Yucca Valley.

The Sands Resort has it all; 9 hole golf, tennis/pickleball shuffle board, horseshoes,

pool, and spa. There are over 200 sites at the Sands. All of them are full hookup, back in spots. Some of the sites are occupied by Resort Homes. These are mobile homes which are offered for purchase; so one can, “Start Living the Dream”. We are lodged at Site #441.

Temperatures have been in the mid to high 80s and the RV’s heat pump has had to work non-stop. It feels good to sit outside beneath the awning, when the near constant winds aren’t trying to rattle it to bits. The sites are hedged with oleander. This tall fence provides late afternoon shade for our outdoor respite. Anne spent a good part of Sunday preparing a Mexican meal which we will share with tomorrow’s dinner guests, the Sullivans.

Mike and Sue Sullivan live in Medford and are staying in Rancho Mirage. They have come to the desert to attend some of the Indian Wells tennis matches. Mike is a custom home building contractor and Sue used to be an elementary school teacher. Anne and Sue go back many years as friends in tennis. The two have also shared membership in a pinochle group, formed from a clutch of likeminded tennis ladies.

The Mexican dinner turned out wonderfully. Now, how about some pinochle, ala cabernet. Rob and Anne partnered against Mike and Sue. A new deck was opened and we were all wearing short sleeves. “So, you see, Sue, there was no way to hide anything under them.” The first game was won by Anne with a lay-down, shoot-the-moon. The second was won by me, also with a shoot-the-moon. This new, slippery deck of cards seemed to be favoring the hosts. Finally, we were in a game which had some play history. Both teams won, and both teams were set. Each team battled its way out of the hole and had eyes set on the finish line. Drats! Again, Rob and Anne came out on top.

Mike and Sue had golf and tennis to do tomorrow. I have always enjoyed Sue’s cheerful company. This had been my first opportunity to visit with Mike. They are a fun couple, and I hope we will get together often to share in conversation and games. Next time, I know, the card gods will be behind the rings on their side. 

            We subscribe to DirecTV at home. I had removed one of the receivers from the house, and I have been using it in the RV. I bought a SWM TV antenna, on a tripod, and at several parks I have tried to align the dish to the DirecTV satellites. With an app on the IPhone, I can easily spot the satellites, but it is an endless task, trekking back and forth between the antenna and the TV, to get everything tuned. The other day I received some gentle nudging from Anne to buy one of the self-tuning, carry out antennas.

I located an “Antenna’s Our Us” store which offered what I was looking for, at a good price, and with free shipping. The Wingard G2 arrived via FedEx at our site yesterday. The G2 is easy to set up and I had it in place and powered in just a few minutes. Connect the supplied coax to the receiver. Connect the supplied power wire to the antenna. Set the DirecTV receiver to the recommended selection. Plug the power into an aux 12v receptacle, and listen to the G2 whir and hum as it aligns to the satellites. At the TV hit tune, and in a couple of moments it’s done.

            We have all heard of the “Desert Graveyard” for airplanes. The vast square miles of Mojave Desert was early recognized as a perfect non-corrosive storage site for the old bones, both commercial, and military. The Palm Springs Air Museum brings some of the history of those artifacts back to life. The museum is located at the NE corner of the Palm Springs Airport, on Gene Autry Trail. Anne and I spent a few hours yesterday touring the museum.

            The Air Museum is really a history of WWII. The building is two very large hangers,

joined by a lobby in the middle. The Pond Hangar presents the history of the Pacific Theater, and the war with Japan. The Cravens Hangar displays aircraft and memorabilia from the European Theater, and the war with Germany. The aircraft in each hanger have oil drip pans under their noses. They are regularly maintained.

            The Pond Hangar brings one current on the reasons for Japan’s Pacific aggression. This is done through timelines, murals, and photographs. Planes of the war are arranged in the center of the hangar. Around the perimeter are: WWII battlefield weapons; scaled, hand-crafted models of America’s warships; surrender documents; and even, a display of Bob Hope memorabilia. Following the attack on Pearl Harbor, two things became readily apparent: aircraft carriers would play a much larger role in warfare than had previously been envisioned, and the success of carriers would depend largely on the skills of well-trained pilots. A massive plan was instituted to qualify 45,000 Navy pilots. Training one how to fly was the easy part, but they couldn’t spare using any of the Navy’s five, in battle carriers for the necessary training on how to land at sea. 

In 1941, Commander Richard F. Whitehead was aviation aide to the head of the Navy’s Great Lakes Training Center. Months before Pearl Harbor, when America was feverishly preparing for the inevitable, he had advocated converting existing lake steamers into training aircraft carriers. No one in the Bureau of Ships hierarchy listened. But after the Japanese demonstrated the potential of naval air power at Pearl Harbor, the idea gathered supporters. The Chief of Naval Operations liked the idea. Very soon the Navy was on a fast-track to create a pair of fresh water training carriers. That effort entailed the acquisition and conversion of two vintage side-paddle-wheel lake steamships! Great Lakes’ shipbuilders stripped away their passenger decks. Fully cut down to their hulls, the steamers retained their archaic propulsion equipment; straight stem bows and graceful spoon sterns. Flight decks were constructed atop each hull. Both vessels’ flight decks had to be extended far beyond their bows and sterns to provide suitable simulations of combat carriers’ flight decks. Eight landings on Lake Michigan qualified the newly winged pilots as sea-worthy.

The Cravens Hanger took us to the European war with Germany. The memorabilia around the walls seemed to focus more on highlights of individuals, and smaller infantry units. While the other hanger left one with a feeling that machines could do it all, these displays brought you into the reality that both war fronts were often carried down to hand-to-hand survival combat, in the mud. Heroes were greatly highlighted in WWII. There were over 200 Metal of Honor recipients in the war. Later to become a film star, Audie Murphy was America’s most decorated soldier of WWII.

 The price for admission to the Palm Springs Air Museum is $14. This amount bought you a white wrist band. For a few dollars more, you could buy a red wrist band. The red band permitted you to go to the rear of the hangers and climb aboard the B-29 Superfortress, Fifi. Fifi is the World’s only flyable B-29. Anne celebrated her 60^th birthday party inside a C-97 at the Medford airport. The C-97 is the freight hauling version of the B-29. Neither of us wanted a red band. However, for just an extra $500 one could purchase a ride on Fifi. Well, maybe on another day. Ever wonder how some things end up where they do? I pondered that question, in regards the Air Museum. No matter. The museum presents an excellent history of America’s involvement in WWII.

The next morning, I was outside tidying the area around the RV. An RV wash &

wax, detail man was coming tomorrow to give the rig a dressing. In the background I heard the distinctive, and familiar drown of the huge engines of one of the borate bombers which fly out of Medford during the fire season. As the noise grew louder I looked up, and I saw Fifi. She was flying at about 2,000 feet, on an upwind departure into the Coachella Valley.

 The road to Joshua Tree National Park took us back through the city of Yucca Valley to the town of Joshua Tree, at the Park’s NW entrance. The Park is nestled between several small mountain ranges. The alluvial planes between the mountains have created vast desert basins. The Park has almost 600,000 acres and it is a transition zone between the Mojave and Colorado Deserts. Entering from the west, you are at 3,000 feet and immediately thrust into Mojave Desert landscape. Expanses of Joshua trees fill the planes. The trees, which aren’t really trees, grow about twenty feet apart. From a distance, their average height of 15-20 feet gives one the impression of looking over a very dappled lawn-scape.

The Joshua tree is a species of yucca. Like other desert plants, its waxy, spiny leaves expose little surface area, efficiently conserving moisture. Joshua trees can grow over 40 feet tall – at a rate of an inch a year. We glimpsed a few trees with their large, cream-colored flowers preparing to bloom.

The Mojave side of the park is a rock climber’s dream come true. Huge piles of granite boulders and cliffs are everywhere. The granite, Pinto gneiss (nice), was upheaved eons ago by volcanic activity. Underlying magma cooled, cracked, and continued to rise. It was exposed to groundwater weathering, which worked on the angular edges of the fragmented blocks. The result is stacks of granite scattered everywhere, like careless piles of toy blocks.

The Park has many campgrounds and points of interest. We stopped at Hidden Valley, a legendary cattle rustlers’ hideout, and walked the looping trail among massive

boulders. When you get out of the car, there are a lot of special things to see. Anne walked the mile long loop, while I fossicked and photographed plants and landscape. Sadly, pictures don’t do justice to the awesomeness of this environment.

The transition between the Mojave and the eastern Colorado Desert landscapes seemed quite abrupt. We drove from sand colored gneiss boulder piles into hills which looked like the dark, jagged piles of tailings from quarry mining. The flora changed from Joshua tree groves, interspersed with Pinto pines and Cholla cactus, to a scene of Creosote bush, struggling patches of weed, and an occasional Ocotillo cactus. The baron Pinto Basin stretched for miles. The 50 mile long park road links up with I-10 at the south center of the National Park. 

       Saturday night at the Sullivan’s, sounds like a TV soap series, for cards and a Barbie. Mike and Sue had rented a home at Mission Hills, in Rancho Mirage. Mission Hills is a private, gated, country club community. Upon clearing the guardhouse, the very first thing

Anne and I noticed was how lusciously green are all of the yards. Somehow, this walled-in estate of homes had tapped into a secret, unlimited supply of water. Sullivan’s home is banked on a small lake. The kidney shaped lake is rimmed at the thirty-yard line with similar, stucco style homes.  Ducks, coots, and a water fountain are active, nonstop in trying to keep the algae burdened water from turning a darker green. From the tiled, awning covered decks to the water’s edge, spread succulent groomed grass.

The banker, who owns the home, has a golf cart. Mike and Sue enjoy golf, as well as tennis. They had driven the cart to the Club’s golf house, only to be turned away, and scowled at for having the audacity to ask to play; with no membership, and arriving in such a non-upscale vehicle. They told us the tennis courts were also out of bounds for non-members. However, Mike reckoned, when there is no one around, whose is going to complain. And, what if they do?

Sue’s new deck of pinochle cards worked in their favor. We had told them they would have a card-god turn around, and they did. Anne and I were severally whooped. Oh, well. Who wanted to play this damned game, anyway? The sun was below the trees. It was time for dinner. Chef Mike lit the Barbie and prepared a dinner of just right, juicy chicken breasts. During the meal we watched a distant neighbor lady run off her deck, swinging a broom, and shouting at a flock of black coots on the lawn. She scared them back onto the water. We were told that the birds would eat the sprouting grass, and that would cause the lawns to brown. Mike said he enjoyed throwing at the birds a few of the colored glass beads he found in one of the many terracotta urns which decorated the deck. He agreed with me that a slingshot may work better.

   Sunday morning was a lazy event. After egg burritos and a crossword puzzle, we drove to the Sands’ reception office to extend a couple more days. Connie Davis-Young is another fine, and fun tennis friend. Connie and her husband live in Long Beach in the winter and in Central Point during summer. She and Anne have planned to meet for lunch on the 17^th. So, our stay of a nine-day week has turned into twelve. For guys it’s a book and a beer on the sofa; or, a wrench with some grease, in the garage. But it is never, “Shall we meet for lunch in a week, say, at Palm Springs?” Women are such social animals. I won’t say anything. Anne would just tell me that if I were to plan beyond the refrigerator, then I, and my men friends, could be enjoying something beyond a tinny, in the man cave. I won’t offer her the opportunity to disparage the joy that we guys share.

Anne’s lunch and tennis with Connie went well. They were able to watch some

singles and some doubles matches. She was weather beaten and exhausted when she dragged herself into the RV this early evening.  Although there is a high degree of jazz in the air when one watches sports live, at the arena, there is definitely a higher degree of comfort when the event is seen, close up on a wide screen, in an air conditioned room.

By 8:30am we were caravanning up the mountains back towards Yucca Valley. The most convenient route to Barstow, and then on to Las Vegas, was highway 274. Anne reserved the night of the 18^th at the Barstow Calico KOA. By 11 o’clock were set up in site #13. Anne took the hamper of clothes and sheets to the laundry room, and I took my bow and arrows to the archery range. She soon joined me, and I hurled 50 carbon fibers at my six inch paper plate.

I knew the metropolitan freeway scene was going to be a little hectic. Before we set out on the three hour drive from Barstow, I verified the routes we were going to drive to have us end up, comfortably, at Sam’s Town Casino & RV Park, in Las Vegas. Anne had set up reservations for two nights, and she had called Ian and arranged to go out to dinner Friday with him and Rebecca. This was going to be a fun couple of days.

We were at 1.1 miles to the turn off of I-15. The dash bitch told me to stay to the right. As we approached the demarcation point, there appeared before us about 28 options; freeways crossed one another in a fashion resembling a plate of asphalt spaghetti. As I recall, eleven of those choices were on the right. That’s how we ended up with a 40 foot motorhome, toad in tow, driving down the heart of the Las Vegas strip. We turned off the strip onto Tropicana. This was a straight shot to Boulder Highway, home to the RV Park. After several miles of close quarter’s stop-and-go, we merged onto Boulder Highway. The GPS lady hadn’t lied. She got us to Sam’s Town, but somewhere along the way she had decided it may be more fun if she toured us through the heart of the city.

Boulder RV Park is laid out like a playhouse. There are three long rows of pull-through sites, which could be the theater’s stage. At stage front and center are restrooms, showers, pool, and spa. This orchestra pit is surrounded by six arced rows which create a fan of back-in sites. Unlike traditional parks, which are platted in a rectilinear grid, the grid at Sam’s Town sets a stage for entertainment to follow. Site numbering began at 1209 and went up to 1499. We were placed at rear stage right, in site #1337.

I met Anne at the casino for a buffet treat at dinner time. I found her parked in Penny

Lane. She was doing very well, but was getting bored by her particular machine. Anne selects slot machines which have bonus rounds. At the moment, she was watching the bandit spin through pull #47, of 103 free spins she had accumulated during a single bonus play. After each spin, the machine beeped and played a tune before getting on with the next whirl. Somewhere in the mid-80’s, Anne was awarded with another 19 free spins. The good thing about bonus rounds is that an ante amount isn’t subtracted from your stash with each spin. Each free spin doesn’t always add to your wallet, either. However, at the culmination of 122 bonus spins, Anne had added over $60 to her purse. Now, Honey, can we get something to eat?

Ian and Rebecca knocked on the door a few minutes before seven for our Friday night out. We visited a bit, and then loaded into the CRV for a drive up Flamingo. Ian had made 7:30 reservations at Roy’s Hawaiian Restaurant. Anne turned the car over to Ian, and she and I sat in back. During the ride, we learned a lot about the preparations for their upcoming May nuptials. The event will be held in Temecula, a lush wine growing region near San Diego. Perhaps the last place a Las Vegas couple dreams of for their wedding is Sin City, itself.  After hearing more of their plans, the promise of fond memories are pretty much in the sack. 

The time at Roy’s was great. We visited about family and the future. Rebecca works at a large Windermere Realty office. We learned that she is first generation American. Rebecca’s mother came over from England. Both are eager to travel more, and Ian’s software design work permits relocation anywhere, so long as he has internet access. In their immediate future, they will be honeymooning for a bit in Orlando, and Disney World, and for a short time in the Florida Keys. After dinner we returned to the RV, visited more, and shared some Merlot. Ian and Rebecca have found complimentary partners in one another. I have no doubt that the family will greet Rebecca with open arms when they get to welcome her into the Duncan Clan.

 We were too close to dear friends, Judy Mooster and Phyllis Chaney, living in St. George, UT, to not visit. The drive to St. George was two hours from Las Vegas, on I-15E. Sunday morning we put some fruit and snacks in a bag and headed out.  We enjoyed a few chapters of Walt Longmire’s escapades in Dark Horse, by Craig Johnson. When one is traversing mind numbing desert starkness, a modern Western thriller speeds the miles by. 

Judy has a home in the western most suburb of St. George, an adult retirement community called Sun River. Judy and Anne have been great friends, and tennis partners, for many years. Judy has switched to the less physically demanding pickleball, in lieu of tennis. She has become very involved in her community, and has even rankled her 92 year old father, Fred, and Diana, to buy into Sun River. It was energizing to hear all of the fun activities a well-organized retirement village can offer.

Phyllis lives on Lizzy Lane. She had told Anne that she sleeps late and that we shouldn’t come to get her for lunch until 1:30. Phyllis’ late husband, Cliff, was my flying mentor. Cliff was 94 when he died. He was a flight instructor to the end. Cliff was so close to achieving his desire to be a 100 year old flight instructor. Phyllis has been working at downsizing from her elegantly furnished home for the last couple of years. She shared over lunch her difficulty with that task. Phyllis is a very creative craft woman. When her craft urges took over her conscious being, she would stock up on whatever materials she might need. That was reasonable. However, Phyllis bought supplies with the assumption the purveyor may go out of business when she needed more stock. As a result, the home is packed with excesses.

 Phyllis’ favorite restaurant in St. George has always been Izzy’s. This is where we had our lunch. Izzy’s is a favored eatery for Anne and Judy, as well. They both love the fish tacos. We enjoyed a long, lazy lunch hour. When we took Phyllis home, we all dug in and helped empty cupboards in the garage. Phyllis no longer had a car, so we neatly stacked boxes on the floor. This was clearly a first step toward downsizing. However, when a second step would be taken was up in the air.

We said our goodbyes to Phyllis and drove Judy back to Sun River. If either of us competes in the Huntsmen Senior Games this fall, we will be able to start where we left off with these two great friends.

There are other RV park choices along the way, but Tonopah Station is such a convenient way point. We left Sam’s Town at 11am. We arrived in Tonopah at 4 o’clock. We followed a 5^th wheel rig into the twenty site lot at the rear of the casino. We quickly grabbed one of the remaining four sites. The other spots were rapidly filled. Tonopah Station doesn’t take reservations. We were very lucky.

The city of Tonopah is in the mountains and it is at 6,200 feet elevation. There was a

quick breeze blowing, and the air was chilly. After leveling the rig, and getting the outside stuff all hooked up, I dug the space heater out of the closet. Tomorrow, it would be back to wearing long pants.

Paperwork needed to be done. The engine needed to be warmed and idled for a length of time. Finally, the Dairy Land delivery man was ready to pull his tractor and trailer away from the receiving dock at the rear of the casino. We were unable to complete a left turn from our site until the truck was moved. There was really no huge hurry. The drive today is going to be to Fallon, which is 170 miles north of Tonopah. We would stay one night at the Fallon RV Park. The next day we drive north, past Reno, and spend our final night at Susanville RV Park. Large, distinctly formed, and widely spaced clouds tried to fill the expansive desert sky, while the setting sun painted a soft yellow-red onto their edges.

We have arrived at camp with time to spare, and have watched the setting sun. There was always a tinny in the fridge, when the driving has been done. My lovely wife has ridden shotgun, as we have seen the West unfold. There is more of America yet to see, and more of the story to be told.

 

 

Winter 2015 RV Adventures

Death Valley Days

As you near Nevada on highway 395 the two lanes become four. This is at the point the northbound traffic is required to stop and declare firewood and fruits upon entering California. To this point the highway from Susanville had wondered up down, around, and across expansive grazing lands. The rolling hills were interspersed with occasional pockets of forest. Now the highway became a freeway. And, in an undulating fashion, it took us to its apex overlooking the Truckee River Valley, and the home of Reno.

            Bordertown occupies roadside opportunities at this valley overlook. We have found that every highway entering Nevada, from any direction, has a settlement like Bordertown just inside the state line. It seems that all of the Bordertowns are either desperate last chances for recovery, or they are the fortune seekers first opportunity. This depends on your travel direction.

            It was now late afternoon. Anne and I did not want to venture into the Friday evening Reno traffic to find our park for the overnight. Behold, Bordertown Casino and RV Resort. We knew of the resort from past travels. The RV park also favors Good Sam membership card holders. Being a Good Sam park usually represents a level of service standard and amenities which will ensure a comfortable stay. I guess, in a way, if a Good Sam park were a motel, one would not feel compelled to black light the room before sleeping in it.

            We set up our site, relaxed, and then walked to the casino for dinner.  After dinner we stayed a few minutes to sample the machine odds. This had been a busy day and the end of it was a comfortable time.

            Having only a couple of years of wintertime RV experience, our initial travel concerns are centered on being able to get out of the Rogue Valley. The tallest and steepest few miles of the I-5 freeway are a couple of miles south of Ashland. This stretch represents the Siskiyou Pass.

            Generally, if there is a winter rain falling in Medford, there are blizzard conditions at the Siskiyou summit. The weather report this Friday morning presented clear roads to and past Susanville. Had a storm system threatened any of the southern Oregon or northern California region we would have traveled west, over the lower coastal range to highway 101. Once south of Crescent City we would drive east to link up with I-5. Today, this diversion wouldn’t be necessary.

            My brother, Bill, had risen early and knocked at the door at 8:30, on this Friday, January 30th. He was here to see that we got away without problems. I had discovered the day before that an outside water fill valve on the RV had cracked during the last freeze. Bill helped me remove the valve and drove us to Triple A RV where I bought a replacement. It took us less than five minutes to swap the two valves. Now I was able to add fresh water to the RV’s holding tank.

            The RV was packed, the CRV toad was hitched to its rear, the house was buttoned up, and we were driving away at ten o’clock.

            Leaving the daily predictability of home life is exciting. But, initially, it can be a bit stressful. We feel very fortunate to have Bill nearby, as well as the watchful eyes of longtime friends Jim and Paula Leroy. This makes travel more rewarding.        

Patti and John (Stan) Stanalonis are friends who live in Albuquerque. Both Patti and Stan play in league softball. A year ago we had linked up with them in St George, UT. We had all been there to compete in the Huntsman Senior Games. They had flown to St George. After the games they joined us in the RV for a drive to Lake Tahoe. One of Patti’s school friends, Rob Marsh, lived on the lake shore.

            Before leaving Bordertown we called Patti and got Rob Marsh’s phone number. Rob was happy to have us stop in for a visit. He reported that the roads were clear and the sun was shining. He was eager to meet with us again.

            Marsh is retired from a career associated with the government. This time included some years with the Air Force OSI. He tells us how he had searched widely for his perfect retirement home location. On Lake Tahoe he bought and remodeled a home for himself and his companion, Butkus. Butkus is a senior aged, very low centered Bulldog. Marsh’s initial retirement investment has been developed into a wonderful home. It is comfortable for his entertainment of visiting family or friends.

            His directions took us to the northern edge of Reno where we ramped onto I-80W. We drove about 20 miles on I-80 before we reached the exit for Truckee. From Truckee it was 18 miles south to Tahoe City, on the lake’s NW shore. Homewood, the strip of shore Rob shares was only four miles away. It had taken us just an hour and half to drive from Bordertown to Rob’s timber nested home.

            Rob is a natural organizer. He had our arrival, and the navigation for the berthing of the 40 foot RV worked out down to the last detail. We enjoyed a wonderful welcoming and quickly settled in.

            Tomorrow is Super Bowl Sunday. Tonight Rob had planned to meet his neighbor, Tom, at the Crystal Bay Casino on the south shore. The casino is where you can fill out betting sheets on sporting events. We met Tom and his son-in-law at the casino entrance. Anne said she had spotted some winning slot machines. The four of us found our way to the sports counter. Rob collected some forms and, with a pint of ale in hand, we settled at a table and studied the paper’s odds.

            Rob explained the nuances of parlay betting. This is where your ticket is a winner if and only if each of your selections on the ticket prevails. One of the tickets had six positions and required a $5 minimum bet. The payout if the ticket won was $100,000. This seemed doable. I was in for $5.

            Neighbor Tom invited us to join him to watch the game. Tom had laid out a hoard of snacks and he kept a well-stocked fridge. Anne and Rob had both created special treats to bring along.

            As the game progressed, each parlay ticket holder either cheered or moaned. Everyone enjoyed the halftime show and we all marveled at the goal line interception that would lose the game for Seattle. This had been a fun and exciting day.

            Rob Marsh loves to share sights around Lake Tahoe with guests. Monday he drove us to Squaw Valley Ski Resort. We parked near the lodge and walked around the resort’s large commercial development. The Winter Olympic Games were held at Squaw Valley in 1960. An Olympic torch burns as a featured reminder at the resort’s main entrance.

            At the ski lift base area there is a large map display that shows the multitude of slopes on the mountain. Each slope is named and is marked with a needed skill level, from novice skier through extreme expert. Lifts, and higher transfer lifts are located everywhere on the vast northern slopes of the mountain. There are miles and miles of   lift cables which form a vast steel cobweb over the skiers.

            After walking the base area we stopped at an Irish pup for a warmup and a pint. Rob explained to us how each lift base can raise its cables to adjust for deepening snow pack. This ensures that departing and arriving cars won’t be dragging in the snow. It won’t be a problem this year. There is only a foot or two of snow at the resort level.

            Squaw Valley was an eye opener and it is just a few miles from Truckee. Rob wanted us to see the historic railway town. The drive through the center of Truckee did indeed take one back in time. The town is a proud and well maintained snapshot of the history of the early western settlement.

            This was our last evening to share with Rob. Anne wanted to host the dinner preparations. Rob insisted we use the filets he’s been saving, and he would cook them on the Barbie. Anne made the rest: mashed potatoes, gravy, sliced carrots, and a bread roll. The meal was fantastic. We were treated to a bit of after-dinner news on the telly which, yes, included more dialog trying to sort out why the goal line play hadn’t been a run.

            The drive to Tonopah is a little bit out of the way, but it takes us south and allows us to avoid a long mountain range trek. Tonopah, Nevada, has a casino with an adjoining RV park. The city is at the junction of US 95S and US 6. This is the seat of Nye County and it is midway between Reno and Las Vegas. The town has a motto: Visit Today & Mine Away. Other than its niche in the middle of nowhere, Tonopah doesn’t present much reason to hang around.

            The RV park is at the rear of the casino. The park’s 20 sites have full hookups. The water didn’t flow at our site, however, but we had loaded the holding tank while on Lake Tahoe. The cost was $27. It will do for one night. After registering at the casino reception Anne scouted out the slots and I returned to the RV for a sit down and a tinny. We rejoined later for dinner in the casino. Anne’s report was that the slots were poor. After dinner we wrapped up our interest in Tonopah.

      

Death Valley National Park has several RV parks in and near the Furnace Creek settlement. I instructed the Dash Bitch to take us from Tonopah to Furnace Creek. The plotted course would take about three hours. On the way we planned for a grocery stop in Beatty, Nevada.

            The size of the dot on the map for Beatty turned out to be a misleading indicator for the presence of well stocked grocery stores. We spotted an off-main street market and Anne scrounged what she could. Beatty is at the junction of US 95S and Hwy 374W, which crosses the Amargosa Range into Death Valley. This final leg would take an hour. A sign on the road cautioned us to beware of wild burros. No sooner had we been warned that four of them crossed the road. Watch out next time, burros. I don’t like stopping the bus on an uphill grade.

            We checked in at the Furnace Creek Ranger Station and secured a wonderful dry site, #87, at the Furnace Creek RV Park. The spot was available for two days. This would be enough time to scout out a more long term park.

            Death Valley is between two mountain ranges, Amargosa to the east, and Panamint on the west. The valley sits on a fault line. At a time, long before yesterday, the fault rose on the west and sunk on the east. This action dropped the valley below sea level. The lowest point in North America is at Badwater Basin which sits at -282 feet. The fault action also created Mount Whitney, the highest point in the lower 48, at 14,491 feet. The two extremes are just 100 miles apart. 
 

            Death Valley National park is America’s largest park in the lower 48 states. The size exceeds 6,000 square miles. Being a desert area it is very dry. Rainfall averages two inches per year. The Panamint Range on the west creates a rain shadow. Together, the two ranges together keep the hot valley air from dissipating at night. The captured air creates the extreme high temperatures in the valley. The mercury often reach 120F by day, while dropping to just under100F at night. One hundred years ago the temperature at Furnace Creek reached 134F. At the time this was the hottest temperature ever recorded on the planet. Currently, the daytime highs are in the mid-80s.

            The ground is covered with rocks and gravel. The gravel is from vast alluvial fans which spread from the bases of the barren mountains to the center of the valley. On first impression the valley is brown. However, when one watches, as the sun changes position, a myriad of hues and soft colors appear, and then disappear. Earth tones from sandy tan to light shades of black dominate. Mixed in are patches with reddish tones and occasional smaller exposures which are a soft green. The green comes from the chloride content of the stone. Ironically, this palette of colors could probably be admired everywhere there are mountain ranges were it not for foliage blocking the view. Death Valley boasts no greenery on its slopes.

            Death Valley Scotty, aka Walter Scott, left a large mark on Death Valley and on most of America through the first half of the 20^th century. Scotty left home when still a young teen and made his way west to partner with the cowboys. He became an expert with horses and this brought him to be noticed by Buffalo Bill. Scotty was soon a celebrity entertainer in the Wild West Show. In time, that venture ended. Scotty turned his entertainment talents to storytelling, and, through that, to conning.
 

Walter Scott’s biggest tale was of finding gold in Death Valley. He even used a few nuggets he had obtained through street purchases as props to help con eastern investors into parting with much needed mine expansion funds he claimed he needed. When Scotty returned to the Bay area with a new grub stake he would squander the money. He lived lavishly and flashed his money while he continued to exaggerate his mining tales.

Investors never deeply questioned Scotty’s claim of finding gold in Death Valley. They certainly knew of the California gold rush. One Chicago millionaire businessman Scotty worked on was Albert Johnson. Johnson was wealthy through his own efforts and by way of an inheritance. Injured at a young age in a train wreck, Johnson never felt fulfilled in doing things he had always dreamed of.

The combination of Scotty’s polished tales of mining, horseback riding, and of the outdoor western lifestyle intrigued Johnson. Albert Johnson was supportive of Scotty’s money requests, but he wanted to have a firsthand look at one of Death Valley Scotty’s mines.

Scotty was prepared. He dramatically warned Johnson about the nature of Death Valley; of its inhospitable climate, and of the everyday risk of highwaymen. Not swayed, Johnson met Scotty at Death Valley. While there, Johnson soon found himself reinvigorated by the climate and by the western lifestyle. Now, what about that gold mine?

As part of the con to dissuade Johnson from finding out there was no gold mine, Scotty arranged for a mountain pass ambush.  Although not intended, one of Scotty’s wagon hands actually received a bullet injury. Apparently, during the wait for their wagons to appear, Scotty’s ambushers had tipped too much from the bottle.

It was during post ambush dialog that Scotty’s con came to the surface. Surprisingly, Johnson was not spiteful. In fact, Johnson had come to deeply admire Scotty, and he knew he was benefiting health wise from the western environment.

So, the friendship continued between Walter Scott and Albert Johnson. Over the next several years Johnson built a winter home for himself and his wife, Bessie. Although never fully completed, due to government land ownership disputes, the home is a landmark in Death Valley. Scotty never actually slept in the home, however, through his embellishments the Johnson summer home soon became commonly known as Scotty’s Castle. The Castle is located on 1,500 acres inside the northern most entrance to the valley.

Before passing on, Albert Johnson gave the Castle and its land to a trust. Under the trust agreement the Castle would rent out rooms and its staff would conduct tours. Visiting Scotty’s Castle is a very good way to spend an afternoon.

Our two days at Furnace Creek RV Park were over. Half mile south of this park are two more Park Service spots. Texas Springs RV Park is nestled in the hills to the east. This park is very alluring, but it is dry camping only and generators were forbidden. That left us with Sunset RV Park.

Sunset borders the highway and is across the street from the Park Visitor Center. Sunset RV Park is a well gridded 20 acres of hard packed gravel. It offers no hookups, but generators can be used, and it has a lone block building at the center which houses a public loo. With our National Parks Senior Pass we can use a spot for $6 per day. We chose a site far from others and one which could give us shade from the awning in the afternoon.

The new site was set up by early afternoon. I was enjoying the sun washed vista and a steady cooling breeze. This Friday’s temperature was reaching into the 80s and the wind and shade felt good. The wind picked up and it became a bit dusty. A gust blew down the satellite dish I had just aligned. Forty pounds of hanging weight wasn’t enough to secure the dish when it is facing directly into the gusts. Rock I had placed on the outdoor carpet started rolling to the center as gusts lifted the edges. Chairs and tray tables were blown over. That’s enough. I stacked things together and set a few stones on the pile.

After the first half hour of wind the dust from the south basin seemed to have blown past. However, the north end of the valley was clouded by the storm. The wind was constant and it gusted to over 40mph. It lasted well past when the sandman came to visit. I noticed Saturday morning that the gravel was nicely cleaned and some of it seemed to shine.

Saturday is laundry day. The Furnace Creek Hotel and Resort has a laundromat for its RV guests. The costs: $1 to wash, and $1 to dry. Anne dropped me off at the museum and she took care of watching the load.

On the veranda of the museum the berg was hosting a flint knapping demonstration. Joseph, a retired Park Service Archeologist has spent the last several years RVing the southwest. He stays at a park for a while, displays and demonstrates knapping, and shares stories of dig experiences he has had. Joseph knows central and eastern Oregon very well. He treasures the opportunity to collect obsidian from that region. I don’t think Anne had as much fun at the laundromat. Bless her domesticated heart.

I remember the occasional night at the dairy when I stood in the front field near the house. The summer night sky was clear and the Milky Way displayed as a true band of whiteness streaking overhead from north to south. To observe the Milky Way it takes weather, location, and opportunity.

A clear, cloudless night sky is needed. As it was on the dairy, one needs to be far away from urban light glow. And, finally, one needs to spend a moment and take advantage of the first two conditions. Last night was the first time these conditions came together for me in what seems like years. The star brilliance and density was amazing.

Our galaxy is an enormous spiraling disk of stars. If looked at from a distance the galaxy would either seem to be a flat plate-like spiral, or it would appear to be a bright band. How it looked would depend on whether you were viewing from above or from alongside. The Milky Way is Earth’s view of part of our own galaxy. We are looking outward toward the edge of a spiral wing.

The Milky Way is just a snapshot of a portion of our galaxy. I am always awed at the unfathomable enormity of the number of stars in that picture. And to think, our simple galaxy is but a speck of vapor in the cloud of galaxies that make up the universe.

A drive today took us to the north, and west in the valley. We stopped at the Mesquite sand dunes and trekked a little ways out onto them. Of course, as Oregonians, we knew all about sand dunes. But these dunes are different. In Oregon you don’t have to keep a lookout for sidewinders. The Mesquite dunes are as tall and as vast, but the sand has the feel of talcum powder. One would be pressed to isolate a single granule. Oh, yes, and the Oregon dunes have water nearby.

West from the dunes it is a short drive to Stovepipe Wells. Stovepipe Wells seems to be a popular stop. The fuel and curios had much lower prices that at Furnace Creek. There is an RV park offering both hookup and dry camping sites. A full hookup site was available for four days beginning tomorrow, the ninth. We made the reservation.

Anne had mentioned earlier that today we needed to drive to Pahrump, Nevada, for groceries and to find a Wi-Fi hotspot where we could connect the laptop and pay some bills that had come due. We drove the fifty miles from Stovepipe Wells to Sunset RV Park to collect the shopping list and the computer. The drive to Pahrump is another fifty miles. The road took us out the SE exit from Death Valley.

The drive to Pahrump was initially all uphill. We were crossing the eastern Amargosa Range. When we neared the high valley that was home to Pahrump I picked up my first AT&T cellular signal. I asked Siri to direct us to a Starbucks. Starbucks has Wi-Fi. Siri led us directly to where the Starbucks should be, but none was visible. I noticed a Denny’s restaurant advertising Wi-Fi. Denny’s would do.

We stayed in the car at Denny’s. I worked the computer and Anne guided me to the proper web sites. In a half hour we were up to date with bills, and we had read and downloaded important emails. Next stop is Wally World.

Walmart is in the same shopping center as Denny’s. While Anne filled the shopping cart I took on the task of getting a prescription filled at Wally’s pharmacy. The refill process would take an hour. I returned to the grocery side of the store to help Anne.

When the shopping was completed, we stopped at Subway and had some lunch/dinner. Night had snuck up on us by the time we finished eating. Anne drove and I dozed. We listened to a Harry Bosch story during the ride back to Sunset.

Site #10 was waiting for us as I pulled the RV back onto the desert floor and positioned it for electrical and water hookups. Stovepipe Wells has a pub/restaurant, general store, hotel, fuel pumps, RV park, and an airstrip. I have not seen any houses nearby. This commercial settlement is not positioned at a highway crossroad. Whatever its history for being in this valley, Stovepipe Wells is hiding it well.
 

Exploitation of Mother Nature’s resources brought the original few inhabitants to Death Valley. Perhaps most famous are the remnants of the 20-mule team Borax works. Borax was known as the white gold of the desert. One of the borax processing plants is just off the highway. A short, non-guided walking tour presents the 20-mule team history. Workers refined borax by separating the mineral from unwanted mud and salts, a simple but time-consuming process. Chinese labor was used extensively. The mule teams pulled loads of up to 36 tons from the Harmony Borax works, operating from 1883-1888, to Mojave or to Daggett. Without the mule teams the borax may not have realized a commercial value.

A few miles to the west of Stovepipe Wells a road leads you to the Charcoal Kilns. This side road twists and turns up into the Panamint Mountains for 20 miles. Around 4,000 feet the terrain begins to show growth of pinyon pine and other stocky plants. The road dead-ends at 6,800 feet, at the Charcoal Kilns.

Designed by Swiss engineers and built by Chinese laborers in 1879, the kilns produced charcoal for the Modock Mine. The Modock mine was located 30 miles to the west. Workers filled the air-tight kilns with pinyon pine logs and fired them. The burning, which reduced the wood to charcoal, took a week. Cooling took another five days. Wagons then hauled the charcoal to the Modock Mine smelter where it was used to extract silver and lead from the mine’s rich ore. The kilns stand twenty five feet high and are thirty feet in diameter. Each kiln could hold more than four cords of wood. If you stand inside a kiln and tap your feet on the packed floor, the sound is amplified by the kiln’s shape. What you hear as you tap sounds like a bass drum. The kilns saw service for only a few years.

Wildlife seems rare in the valley. Large black ravens are seen swooping over the graveled floor. Continuously cawing, they occasionally land near the parked RVs and stroll about looking for refuse. Stovepipe Wells is the proud home of the only trees in as far as the eye can see. The majestic foliage stands behind the restaurant/pub. Upon early evening the ravens fly in twos and threes from all directions to roost in the trees. This is not done quietly. With each arriving squadron of birds there is a collective protest, or perhaps greeting, from the current residents. Seen around the park are small sparrows. First one will lite, and then several more will fly in. Each bird seems to be curious what the others have found. From somewhere a seagull flew in. We have seen no ground animals, lizards, etc. There are coyotes, however. As nighttime sleep is nearing, a lone coyote cries out. This one voice creates a cacophony of noise that seems to fill the valley. The serenade lasts but half of a minute, and then sleep comes.
 

 The Stovepipe Wells hookup site was available through the 12^th. Friday, the 13^th, we reposition a few yards away to a dry camping spot. Today, Feb. 17^th, is designated RV cleanup day. We are expecting Roy and Arlene, from Gold Hill, to join up with us today. Last night there was another wind storm. The RV is positioned more sideways to the winds than it was during the storm while at Sunset. I had left all of the windows open to help cool the inside. The small breezes feel good while trying to get to sleep. An uninvited layer of dust now coats all surfaces.

The winds hit us around 2am. I lay awake listening to the patio awning being whipped by the gusts. I gave up on the hope that at any moment the automatic wind-retraction gears would kick in and bring the awning to the side. At 3am I got up and pushed the button to retract the awning. Sleep didn’t return and I arose at 4 o’clock and fixed a cup of lemon tea.

I decided I would try to finish the novel Caroline had loaned me, The Eight, by Katherine Neville. At around 5:30 my reading light started to pulsate. The coach battery bank was dying. Everything controlled by 12vdc stops working when that happens, including the refrigerator. The rules of the RV park are that generators can only be run between 7am and 7pm. Recharging the batteries was an hour and half away.

The coach batteries are trickle charged daily by a 45w solar panel on the roof. We have found that the solar isn’t sufficient to maintain enough charge to habit the RV without charging, also, for a while with the generator. The generator uses very little fuel and that expenditure isn’t critical, so long as the tank has enough to get us to the next fuel stop. I will get together with Dave to sound him out for solutions.  

Pupfish are on the endangered species list and they live only in Salt Water Springs. These tiny fish, no bigger than a minnow, have adapted to the saline conditions of the spring water seeping from beneath the Panamint Range. They were named Pupfish because someone thought they resembled puppies in some of their mannerisms. During their mating cycle the male pupfish takes on a blue color which attracts the female. The Park Service has laid a half mile board walk along a portion of the small stream. The pupfish collected in still ponds created from bends in the water’s path. The boardwalk path afforded an opportunity to see a few lizards, listen to chirps from nesting birds in the creosote bushes, and to enjoy the sounds of the isolated brook as it tumbled a few inches over a riffle.

Thursday evening is scheduled a starry night dune walk at Mesquite Dunes. The presentation begins at 7:30. The day had been restful and fun. I had brought along the wood lathe, tools, and a box full of pre-rounded wood pieces. We had moved back to the full hookup area and I had power without needing the generator. Late morning I set up two folding saw horses and strapped the lathe on top.

I had lots of pieces of different kinds of wood. Raymond, a cabinet making friend, called me and said he was getting rid of off cuts. Come and get some, or sit by the stove while the scraps take the chill away from his large shop. Cherry, walnut, mahogany, and a number of other species were available. I had also been given several pieces of wood by Tom, daughter-in-law Anne’s father. Tom is also a crafter of fine wood works.

Arlene selected two pieces of mahogany to be used to turn pistachio nut bowls. In a little over an hour, Roy and I had roughed out the first bowl. Turing a piece seems to be the easiest part of this form of wood work. Most time is spent in finishing with sandpaper grades, from 80grit to 2,000grit. Because the bowls are to be used for foodstuff, I spun the bowl and held a beeswax candle to the surface. A bit of spin polishing with a soft rag produced a safe, soft shining finish.

After area cleanup it was time for a tinny. Roy and I mused a while outside in the shade while Anne and Arlene wrestled at the dining table over some two handed pinochle. Two handed turned into four handed, and that turned into dinner. Arlene treated us to beef brisket and home grown spaghetti squash. It was shortly after 7 o’clock when we drove the couple of miles to Mesquite dunes parking lot. It was very dark out by now and the stars shone overhead.

A young ranger introduced himself and explained what we would be learning during the 40 minute Under the Stars Dune Walk. As we trekked over the dunes the ranger told us about mesquite and creosote bushes, and how to identify them by leaf smell. We walked in the dark to allow our eyes to night adapt. At the bottom of what seemed like an endless dune, the ranger collected the herd and explained how being where we were on the dunes was blocking the glow in the sky created by Las Vegas, 50 some miles to the SE. He was right. There was absolutely no light interference where we stood.

The ranger used a laser pen to point out different constellations. From the Big Dipper to Polaris, he explained how the North star was easy to locate and how as the Earth turned this made it seem like the Big Dipper was rotating counter clockwise around Polaris. The ranger explained how stars consumed hydrogen and how all of the elements through iron were created in the process. The Milky Way was talked about and he told us stories of how a few of the prominent constellations received their positions in the night sky. Some of the constellations were known by different societies for different things.

One of the dune walkers told us of an event in Los Angles some years ago.  Apparently, during a broad area power outage the calls to 911 went wild will claims of Los Angeles being invaded by objects from outer space. The teller explained that, because of the extreme amount of urban night light, the population had been raised being aware of the sun and the moon as the sky’s only inhabitants. They had never had the opportunity to witness a black night sky. Some of the walkers exclaimed, “Wow”, but the majority just moaned. The ranger thanked the teller and said he would use the tale in his future dune walks. Much of the information we were given wasn’t new, but the evening had been entertaining and wondrous.

A back road off the highway through Shoshone can take you to Pahrump. Just beyond Tecopa, on this road, is a turn off to China Ranch. In the early 1900’s, a Chinese man discovered an oasis nestled among some rugged mountains. The rich growing spot was many miles from a near neighbor. The Chinaman’s ranch became known as China Ranch. Over the years many types of farming was done on the ranch and the ranch traded ownership a few times.

Not too many years back, the wife of the current couple planted some date pits on each side of the long driveway leading to the homestead. The spirit of her idea was to form a colonnade with the date trees. One small success led to another and today China Ranch is known for its date orchards, and the harvests are abundant. There is much to be seen on a visit to China Ranch. One should never plan to leave the ranch without first having a date milkshake from the curio shop.

Roy and Arlene wanted us to see Ash Meadows Wildlife Refuge before returning to Stovepipe Wells. The refuge is a few miles from Death Valley Junction, and it is just across the border into Nevada. Predictably, on the Nevada side of the state line, there is a casino; Longstreet Inn Casino & RV Resort.

Roy and Arlene told us how, when traveling the Death Valley area several years ago, they had stopped for the day at the Opera House Motel at Death Valley Junction. They checked in, went to their room, found to be in a disgusting condition, and immediately checked back out. They then drove seven miles down Hwy 127 and stayed at the Longstreet Inn.

We, too, stopped at the Longstreet Inn. We were all ready for lunch, and, hey. They had some slot machines. The hamburgers were big and juicy, and the machines didn’t consume that much while we waited to be served. At the rear of the Inn, there is a large pond which hosted many ducks. From the outside veranda one could watch the ducks, or look over the many pieces of antique wagons and farming implements cleverly integrated into the landscape. The adjoining RV Park has over 50 drive-through sites with full hookups. This would be a fun place to spend a couple of days.

Ash Meadows Wildlife Refuge was closed for the day. However, the boardwalk over the large reserve was open for the walk. Roy, Arlene, and Anne went for the mile and half round trip on the boardwalk, while I stayed behind and saved a spot on a bench in the sun. I was told of a crystal clear hot spring, with year around 87F water, and of the few birds they spotted. This is a refuge which Dave and Joy would love, if they haven’t already experienced it.

The return to Stovepipe Wells began with a setting sun. The few thin clouds to our west slowly transitioned from white, through burnt red-orange, to black. We were all a bit tourist exhausted and the hour plus drive home was fairly quiet. We were also all a bit melancholy, as this was to be that last night Anne and I would enjoy the wonderful company.

With the aid of a tinny and a rigorous game of pinochle, we soon went through a healthy mood change. Arlene and I couldn’t beat Anne and Roy’s combined skills, and tremendous luck of the deal. After calling a truce, we enjoyed a great brisket, squash, and buckeye wheat leftover dinner.

After Roy and Arlene drove away for their ride to Reno for the night, Anne and I got stuck into our crafts. Anne had bought fabric to back the baby blanket she has spent the last twenty years working on, and I hauled out the lathe. Anne is determined to finally complete her, off and on, piece of art. Roy and I had bounced around a lot of ideas, and what if’s, while we had chatted in the cool shade on the desert. One idea we had come up with was the lathe turning of a nut, or sundry, bowl which could sit in a car’s cup holder. I had the wood, the machine, and the time. I went to work.

When I finished my nut bowl beta unit, I took it inside to show Anne. I found her stretched out and asleep on the couch, with a baby blanket covering her. I snuck back outside without noticing whether the blanket had been finished; a great way for us both to have spent a warm, sunny, lazy day.

The wind started blowing late in the evening. When daylight broke, the wind was still angry and gusty. I had looked forward to spending a bit of time outdoors with the lathe today. I ventured outside once. That was enough.

This wind was different than the others we have had while in Death Valley. The blow was from the NW. The last two were from the SE. It seems interesting that the valley is generally oriented in the same north to south direction. I wonder which came first. The other wind storms happened with clear skies. The morning sky was hung low with rain clouds.

Anne was very happy with her Brother Nouvelle sewing machine perched on the extended dining table. The mini ironing board was on top of the counter extension pull-out, strips of multicolored fabric lay in a heap on the sideboard, and Anne spent the day cutting, ironing, and sewing, while a Janet Ivonovich audiobook played over the RV’s speaker system.

Let it blow. Anne was in heaven. At 4 o’clock she held up here craftwork and declared it completed. Anne explained to me that this form of quilt top pattern had its origin with Southern quilters. Regardless the design origin, the piece is very bold and eye catching. At this point, she declared it time to get out of her night clothes and to prepare for the evening. 

  While Anne’s energies had been spent creating a piece of artwork, my storm day time was consumed in a more varied fashion. I completed a couple of Sudoku puzzles, read a dozen pages of Differential Equations Demystified, listened to the Ivonovich story, and began to read John Cleese’s book, So, Anyway…. Oh, yes. I probably dozed a bit, here and there.

At 5 o’clock I suggested we go to the pub/restaurant, located at the very heart of the village of Stovepipe Wells, and partake of a sample of their dinner fare. The restaurant is separated from the pub through a wood planked hallway. The hall sported a western motif. The tabled area was spacious. It featured a rock wall with a large fireplace at one end, and around the other walls were large movie posters displaying titles which were either filmed in, or featured Western life in Death Valley; gun slingers everywhere in those days. Anne chose chicken tacos, and I selected pepper fried steak. Service to our table was good, so I left a tip which was close to one of the recommended gratuity values printed on the customer copy of the receipt. I thought how handy it was that one no longer required an app on their bat-phones to calculate various tip percentages. It was automatically done through the cash register. Could life get any better?

It was raining when we left the restaurant. In fact, it rained all evening and sprinkled throughout the night. From inside our cozy water sealed RV we were actually living through an annual historic event in Death Valley. My heart swelled, as I thought of all of the beautiful flowers we would miss that would pop from the valley floor in a couple of weeks. There had been enough rain to have soaked in an inch or more. This would be sufficient to stimulate growth from the sleeping seeds. Winter was still here. The crest line of the Panamint Mountains now featured a soft white color.
 

The Alabama Hills were named after the C.S.S. Alabama, a Confederate warship responsible for wreaking havoc during the Civil War. Prospectors sympathetic to the Confederate cause named their mining claims after the Alabama and eventually the name stuck. The rounded contours of the Alabama’s form a sharp contrast between the glacially chiseled ridges of the Sierra peaks to their west. Generated by the same geological uplifting which created the Sierra range 100 million years ago, the Alabama Hills have undergone water erosion leaving the arched and sculpted formations seen today.

I dwell on these hills because, unknown to me, I had seen them many times over the years, especially as a boy sitting in front of the television set at the foot of the stairs in the dairy’s farm house. Channel 5, NBC out of Eugene, was the only signal dad was able to tune in with the rooftop antenna. Through this channel my eyes were opened wide as I shared in the heroic adventures of The Lone Ranger, and those of Roy Rogers. Silver and Trigger flawlessly carried their crime fighting masters over every inch of the hills, and across the dusty flatlands at their base. 

Highway 395 runs past the base of the Alabama Hills as it courses its way down the length of California. The city of Lone Pine is found here. Lone Pine was the Hollywood hub for virtually all of its western theme movies and TV serials. Hopalong Cassidy, the Cisco Kid, Gene Autry, How the West Was Won, Bad Day at Black Rock, Tremors, and the Iron Man were all cast with the Alabama Hills as a backdrop. These features, and even some turn-of-the-century silent films, were produced in Lone Pine. The Lone Pine Film History Museum displays how the West was really won.

A few miles north of Lone Pine is an historic site which took the thrill out of the earlier part of the day. Manzanar has been re-established to preserve the stories and history of a dark time in American. This is one of the ten re-location camps where all people of Japanese descent on the west coast were rounded up and forced into internment after the bombing of Pearl Harbor. These people, many of whom were United States citizens, were given a week’s notice to prepare for their relocation. Homes and farms were forfeited or sold at tremendous financial loss. Manzanar, together with its sister sites, located primarily in California, became home for 120,000 people from 1942 to 1945. The U.S. Supreme Court played a defining role for these internment cities. Ruling from the court led the way for their creation, and a later ruling led to their destruction. A visit to the Manzanar Museum leaves one wondering how fragile our civil rights in America might really be.

To reach Lone Pine, we needed to cross the Panamint mountain range. For half of the seventy plus miles, we spent climbing and twisting through the narrow gaps between the jagged peaks of the range. At the apex we drove alongside the couple of inches of snow which had dusted the tops of the mountains during the valley’s rainfall. The western slope of the mountain highway wasn’t as confining, or as peaceful.

The yellow sign at the side of the road claimed a 9% downgrade. The sign, however, didn’t speak of the lack of guardrails on the outside bends around the mountain’s side. Nor, did it tell us not to look down as we braked into these corners. Gas mileage was picking up on the CRV’s digital display.

Within a few miles, gaps opened to the west and we could see portions of the dry, flat stretches of Owens Lake. The gray-white lakebed appeared to be tens of miles away, and the peephole-like glimpses gave the impression that the distance was all straight down. Interstate 5, south of Ashland, is steep, but it bows to the magnificence of Hwy 190 across the Panamint mountains.

February 25^th, and our Death Valley Days are over. Anne is planning to meet up with tennis friends at Indian Wells, during the March tennis tournaments. This meant we needed to motor further south in California. We left the parklands at Death Valley Junction. From there, it was south on highway 127 to Baker, where we linked up with I-15S. The plan was to stay the evening somewhere near Barstow. As I drove, Anne discovered a wonderful thing. She could get many bars of AT&T reception, along with good cellular connectivity. To quote a famous American, “We’re free. We’re free at last.”