Roosevelt Lake, Arizona
April 5-18, 2009 - We left Chanute, Kansas in a blast of cold headwinds.
Those miserable winds pummeled us all the way across Oklahoma, Texas
and New Mexico. We were totally windblown by the time we arrived in
Arizona, and we were utterly fed up with fighting it every time we set foot
outside the trailer. Our usual mileage of 10 mpg while towing dropped as
low as 7.7 through parts of Oklahoma, and for the entire trip across
country our average was a dismal 8.5.
The truck and
trailer looked
like heck when
we got to
Arizona, and
we did too. So
it was with great excitement that I
opened our door and looked out
at the lake on our second
morning and felt not just warm
sun on my skin but the sweetest
of gentle breezes on my face.
This is one of those areas that is
a little jewel on our planet.
Coming into Windy Hill Recreation
Area there is a fantastic curvy
road, and I spent several happy
hours on two different days
running up and down the road
getting pictures of RVs as they
drove past.
Roosevelt Lake was dammed in 1911, and at the time was the largest
man-made lake in the world. We had lived in Phoenix, next door to this
little piece of heaven, for years, yet we had never been there. I couldn't
believe how beautiful it was. If we had known about it, we would have
camped there every spring and fall weekend in our popup tent trailer.
The lake is open to boaters of all kinds, and a marina sits next to the
visitors center. There are lots of houseboats at the marina. What a fun
place to roost for a while.
We had ridden our bikes on just about every road in the area with
various organized bike rides over the years, but the one spectacular
road that runs alongside the lake was a whole new discovery for us.
Everything
seemed to be
in bloom when
we arrived, and
the high winds
had blown
every bit of dust
and pollution to
kingdom come,
so the air was
crisp and clear.
The lake was
full to
overflowing,
and the views
in every
direction were
filled with the
promise of
spring.
We were blessed with a full moon
during our stay, and a group of birds
swooped back and forth in front of
the moon as it rose one evening.
The entire lake is smack in the
middle of Tonto National Forest, so
there is virtually no development
anywhere other than the slightly
developed campgrounds and an
Indian cliff dwelling site nearby. I
was amazed by how many
campgrounds there are, and how
many campsites within each
campground. The USFS has closed
several campgrounds and closed
many loops within the open
campgrounds, probably because
they just don't get enough
business to make it worthwhile to
maintain it all.
The campgrounds are set along little peninsulas, and many campsites
have a waterfront view. Whoever designed the campgrounds along this
lake did an outstanding job. There is boondocking too, but the
campgrounds are so spacious and pretty that we opted for a waterfront
site at the end of a peninsula instead.
Throughout our visit the cameras just kept clicking. In every direction
we turned there seemed to be another lovely shot. Friends of ours
were camped nearby, and each evening the discussion always seemed
to wander back to the various photos all of us had taken during the day.
One evening I
came back from a
bike ride to hear
an excited
discussion around
the campfire
about a clump of
clover and a bee.
This little bee had
unknowingly
become a
supermodel for the afternoon, and we
had fun comparing all the different
photos of him.
The Sonoran Desert is one of my
favorite places. It extends from
Arizona into Sonora, Mexico, and is
extremely lush, filled with a wide
variety of flowers, birds and cactus. It
is the only place in the world where
the wise old saguaro cactus chooses
to live, and they rule the landscape
with a myriad of personalities, all
seeming to wave a greeting to their fellow cactus.
The saguaros that have a cluster of arms are often 150 years old or
more. Those cactus grew up in a very different world -- one with a
small river instead of a lake, for starters.
The main road hugs the lake for many miles, and on a few
days we ventured out to Tonto Basin, a small community at
the far north end of the lake. On those morning drives the
hillsides were alive with bright yellow flowers and towering
cactus, looking down at the lake. In the distance we could see
Four Peaks, an aptly named mountain range that makes a distinct
landmark on the horizon when looking east from Phoenix. Here we got
to see its back
side.
A bridge spans
the river just
before the
dam, and every
time you drive
by it begs you
to take a
picture.
On several days we went out in the
kayak and pedaled and paddled
around. The wind resumed its howling
every few days, so we had some
sloppy times on the water with the
spray flying. But there were some
really calm days too. Those were
times of heavenly relaxation and
serenity.
The lake is an interesting habitat because it is in the
middle of the richest Sonoran Desert land, but
because the body of water is so large, ducks, grebes and even seagulls set up
housekeeping here too. Whenever we would go out in the kayak we were always
amazed to see hundreds of grebes swimming around. They would alert each other to
our presence with frantic calls, and as we approached, one by one they would dive
underwater. At the same time we could also hear the calls of the Gambel quail from
their perches in the desert scrub along the shore.
The fishermen complained
that the fishing wasn't too
good. That surprised us,
because we saw all kinds of huge fish leaping out of the water as we
paddled. Maybe their noisy powerboats were scaring off their catch.
The cycling in this area is spectacular as well.
There are a lot of organized rides sponsored by
the Arizona bike clubs that travel many of the
roads in this part of the state, however I know of
none that go along the lakeside road (route
188). It would be the perfect location for an
organized ride: stunning scenery, challenging
climbs, screaming descents, and lots of picnic
areas for rest stops.
Roosevelt Lake is a gorgeous place, and we
felt blessed to be able to spend a good bit of
time there.
A little cardinal sang his heart out on one of our last mornings.
He seemed so happy to be alive. Roosevelt Lake makes you feel
that way. Sadly, we eventually had to pack up and go. We drove
the beautiful lakeside road one last time and then turned west
once again to journey on to California.
Chanute, KS – A part of America’s Heartland
Remnants of a blizzard greeted us in Kansas
Hopefully this is the last snow we'll see for years!
Our sentiments, exactly.
The Santa Fe City Park waterfall was running at full volume after
the blizzard.
Boarded windows, "closed" signs, and storefronts for lease and
rent were signs of the times in Chanute.
A vendor hopes out-of-work customers can find a
silver lining...
The Safari Museum and Library, housed in the old train depot
A fellow tourist (or museum escapee?)
roams the sidewalks of Chanute.
Debbie took us on a tour of the trailers in the new
show room.
Leaving Kansas, we had hundreds of miles of prairie and farmlands ahead of us on our way to Arizona.
Chanute, Kansas
March 30 - April 1, 2009 - In search of warranty repairs for
the trailer (the stove burner knobs became immoble under
high heat and the pocket door to the bedroom had come off
its track), we drove north from Arkansas to Kansas. We felt
the warm air of the southern spring quickly slipping away.
Our beach days in Pensacola, just two weeks earlier,
seemed a lifetime ago as we drove north into a ferocious,
freezing headwind. A nasty blizzard blanketed much of
southern Kansas and northern Oklahoma two days before
we arrived, killing some 3,500 head of cattle in Texas.
Remnants of the storm were visible on the roadside. We
hadn't seen snow piles in a few years, and this was about as
much as we wanted to see for many years more!
We had enjoyed our visit to Chanute, Kansas
so much the previous year that we were
looking forward to seeing the town again. We
hoped to hook up with some of the friendly
people who had made us feel so welcome at
the NuWa plant. News in the RV industry and
world economy had gone from bleak last year
to jaw-droppingly disastrous this year. We
heard rumors that Elkhart, Indiana, home of
the vast majority of RV industry
manufacturers, had lost some 15,000 jobs.
We had also heard over the winter that, after a 60-day temporary factory shutdown,
NuWa had decided to close its doors permanently. With characteristic class and
concern for their customers, they had set aside enough cash to cover all warranty
repairs on new trailers until the warranties expired. To protect their shareholders' best
long term interests, however, they wanted to preserve what equity they had left. This
meant carefully liquidating their assets in an order that would keep the company as
attractive to prospective buyers as possible for as long as possible. But no new NuWa
trailers would be coming to market.
This depressing news
came at the same time the big three automakers' CEO's were flying
to Washington, DC on their corporate jets to plead for bailout money
to plug holes in their sinking ships. Plans for how the bailout money
might save those companies were nonexistent, but the wailing pleas
were heard worldwide. Meanwhile, NuWa had planned years ago for
a rainy day, and cash was available to keep their warranty service
department open for all recent buyers, like us, for as many years as
necessary.
So we were thrilled to hear the news that NuWa had changed
their plans and decided to squeeze service, production and
corporate offices into one building and resume production on
a much smaller scale as a more streamlined company in
June. When we arrived, the excitement at this prospect was
palpable. From the town's visitors center hosts to the skeletal
crew in the darkened hallways of the NuWa plant, hopes ran
high that NuWa would survive the economic calamity after all.
Chanute has a fun, quirky character beyond the NuWa factory and its steady stream of
RV-oriented visitors. Last year we enjoyed the Santa Fe City Park and its resident ducks
and geese and evening picnickers. This year we spent more time "downtown" amid the
historic buildings. The Safari Museum presents the memorabilia of former locals Osa
and Martin Johnson, travel adventurers who trekked to the world's most exotic locales
between 1917 and 1936. A giraffe statue outside the Tioga Suites made a fun sidewalk
companion.
Back at the NuWa plant, we
accidentally bumped into Neil Ford, president of NuWa, and he gave us
a tour of the plant, explaining how it would be laid out in the future. The
enormous factory floors stood silent and immaculately clean, a far cry
from the beating pulse of machinery and workers that throbbed through
the plant last year. A new area had been set aside as a showroom area,
and a collection of beautiful trailers stood ready for the new fixed-price
factory-direct purchasing program the company was implementing.
He sadly told us that their two excellent employees
who had taken such good care of us last year, Brett
and Russ, had taken positions elsewhere. So we
were delighted to see our friend Debbie was still in
the NuWa offices, and she gave us a wonderful,
detailed tour of each trailer in the show room.
The relationship between NuWa and Chanute is symbiotic, and when one is ailing the
other suffers as well. It was shocking, after visiitng Bentonville, Arkansas, the thriving
home of Walmart, heart of the American consumer economy, to wander through
America's heartland of Kansas to Chanute.
Bentonville's spiffy town
center fairly sparkled, with
an almost Disney-like flare,
showing us small town
America as it could be. In
contrast, Chanute's boarded
downtown windows, rows of
"closed" signs, and endless
stores for sale and for lease,
made us both ache inside.
The leprosy of Pay Day loan
stores was creeping in too.
Ironically, during
our stay, we watched a PBS special on the Airstream trailer caravans to
Mexico, Central America and Africa that took place during the 1950's. We
were amazed to learn that Airstream owners shipped their precious trailers
worldwide to embark on mammoth overland voyages together. In Africa
they traveled from Cape Town to Cairo! During the program we learned
that Airstream was the only trailer manufacturer, of 400, that survived the
Great Depression.
Which RV manufacturers will remain after the current shakedown? Our
hopes and bets are on NuWa. If they resume production as planned, they
may emerge from this economic disaster a stronger, leaner and better
company, producing even more clever and comfortable trailers for future
RVers.
Perhaps, amid all the government bailout money for the many corporations that squandered their fortunes long ago, there could be a
President's Hero Award for a small company that has tightened its belt and forged ahead, unaided by taxpayers, putting customers
and community first.
The wind shifted while we were in Chanute, and even though we retraced our route to the Oklahoma border, we found ourselves
fighting a ferocious, freezing headwind once again. That headwind blocked us all the way across Oklahoma, Texas and New
Mexico, for three solid days. Our trailer rocked all night outside Oklahoma City, buffeted by the wind, and it was pelted so hard with
sand and dust all night in Truth or Consequences, New Mexico, that it sounded like a driving rain. The wind didn't even begin to
show hints of letting up until we had been parked at Roosevelt Lake, Arizona, for a few days.
Natchez Trace Parkway, MS – A Scenic Drive with No Trucks Allowed!
Welcome back to Natchez Trace
The Trace is perfect for a leisurely drive
We took a spin on the bikes
Wildflowers lined the road
A motorcycle group enjoys a morning ride
We take a side road to visit an Indian Mound
Riding down the side of the Indian Mound
A barn in the distance
This split-rail fence had no joinery - the rails were simply
laid on top of each other
Cows in the distance
Bursts of color everywhere
A lone tulip celebrates the
morning
Natchez Trace Parkway, Mississippi
March 20-21, 2009 - We reluctantly tore ourselves away from the sparkling waters
and soft sands of the Emerald Coast and made our way north.
We could have stayed on that beach forever, but we had two problems in the trailer
that needed attention. From day one our stove had acted up: if you cooked
something for a long time, eventually the burner knob wouldn't turn and you couldn't
adjust the flame. This meant that it was just about impossible to shift a pot from a
rolling boil to a gentle simmer.
Also, the sliding pocket
door that separated the
main room from the
bedroom had fallen off its
track. Neither of these
repairs was something
that Mark wanted to
tackle, especially
since the trailer was
still under warranty.
So we decided to
make a trip to the
NuWa factory in
Chanute, Kansas,
where the experts
were.
This change of plans
meant we would
retrace our steps
from last year,
traveling up through Alabama and Mississippi through Arkansas to the
southeast corner of Kansas. Poking around on the map we were happy
to see that this put the free campground at Rocky Springs on the
Natchez Trace right in our path.
The Natchez Trace is paradise for anyone that likes the simple pleasure
of going for a drive. It's a place to meander and ponder rather than a
route to get you somewhere. There aren't a lot of dazzling sights, but
there are endless miles of peaceful scenery with minimal traffic, clean
pavement and sweeping turns. It is ideal for bikes, motorcycles and cars that aren't in a hurry.
We rolled out our bikes and took a leisurely ride out and back along 15
miles of the Trace south of the campground. The air was fresh and clear,
flowers sprinkled the edges of the road with vibrant colors, and we
murmured to each other for the umpteen-millionth time, "What a great life!"
The Trace is layered in history, from prehistoric peoples to more
recent Indian cultures to the early settlers to modern America. The
ancestors of the Natchez Indian tribe lived along the route, and
evidence of their unusual customs has been found in their ancient
burial mounds. One Indian mound in particular had caught my
attention last year, and we took the little side route off the
Trace to see it once again.
There is not much to see but a small grassy hill topped with
informational plaques. However, their tales took my breath
away. Apparently the ancients had a radically different view
of the sanctity of human life than we do today. When a noble
man died, his slaves were strangled and buried with him. Far
more shocking, when a parent died, sometimes the surviving
parent killed their children as a sign of respect and grief.
It is easy from our viewpoint at this time in history to dismiss those
customs as barbaric, cruel, and unfair. However, in their society it
was somehow right and good and proper. Where our society would
have screamed "Murder!," theirs might have been nodding solemnly,
saying, "Yes, that was the right thing to do."
This was all very heady stuff, stamped out in a few brief
sentences on rusting metal National Park Service plaques placed
around the mound. The violent acts of the early peoples were
hard to fathom in such a bucolic setting. In the distance, the
cows were munching the grass, a barn stood quietly against the
treeline, and a split rail fence snaked its way across the meadow.
All around us the spring flowers were
bursting with color. Yellows, pinks
and pale blues filled the fields.
If you looked really closely, some of
the tiniest little blooms were the most
elaborate, but as a group they
formed a carpet of color.
Back at the campground, right outside the bathrooms, a
single tulip was opening up and greeting the day. How could
that bulb have possibly gotten there? There wasn't another tulip for miles around. It seemed yet
another mystery in this very mysterious place.
We said goodbye to the people we'd met at the campground, a young woman riding her bike
down the Trace for Spring Break and an older grey bearded guy on a motorcycle going the other
way. A little more north off the Trace for us, and we would soon find ourselves in the Ozarks.
Ozarks (AR) – Of Presidents, Billionaires and Whittlers
Bill Clinton Museum, Little Rock, AR
White House
Countless Images of Bill
Mark finds the Beatles in the Peter Max Collection
Clinton's Presidential Car
White House Table Setting, Selected by Hillary
Hillary's Gown
Socks plays sax
Lance Armstrong gave
Clinton a Trek bike
Banjos
Pickin'
Mountain View, Arkansas
Storefronts in Mountain View
Mark tries out a chair
Whittling soup spoons (note the pile of shavings)
The "Pickin' Porch" comes alive during the Folk Music
Festival
Unique music store
Headstock
THe Dulcimer Shoppe where beautiful Mountain
Dulcimers are made
Feelin' Groovy with a Dulcimer
Haromonizing
An autoharp
Putting the finishing touches on a dulcimer
Sam Walton's first store in Bentonville, AR
Walton's wasn't the biggest game in town at first
City park with a Confederate statue
opposite Sam's store
Storefronts in Bentonville, AR
Bike shop with a mountain bike frame
for a door handle
Little Rock, Mountain View & Bentonville
March 22-27, 2009 - We left the serenity of the Natchez Trace in
Missippi and continued north to Arkansas. For a week we were treated
to some of the highlights of this state by a dear friend who took us on
day trips to places we might not have otherwise visited.
The Bill Clinton Museum in Little Rock is housed in a unique building
affectionately referred to as a motorhome on stilts. It juts out over the
banks of the Arkansas River and is elevated to allow the floodwaters
plenty of room to rage underneath. Perhaps this choice of setting and
architecture is symbolic of elements of Clinton's eight year term.
Whether you are a Clinton fan or not, the museum offers a look at his
presidency in the context of history, presented in the most positive light
possible.
The museum was hosting an exhibit of paintings by Peter Max when we
were there. As we entered, there was a beautiful image of the White
House and portraits of many recent presidents as well, including, of
course, a series of images of Mr. Clinton.
Mark is a die-hard Beatles fan, and he loves Max's artwork, as it
has close ties with the Beatles. He quickly found a Beatles
painting too.
The museum opens with an exhibit of Clinton's presidential car. It was
built with all the latest high-tech gear, but as we read the list of
antiquated communications equipment, we suddenly realized just how
long ago Clinton was president. 1992-2000 is quickly slipping into
history.
We had not realized that Hillary ordered a complete new table setting
for entertaining guests at the White House. The plates featured a
bold image of the White House in the center, encircled by an ornate
design, giving visiting heads of state no doubts about just where they
were and who was entertaining them.
Seeing this table setting and one of Hillary's
gowns along with many photos of them both
dressed for elegant White House events
impressed upon us just how much these
grand, formal social events are a part of the
president's job.
There were glass cases filled with stunning
gifts the Clintons had received from leaders
all over the world, many from remote, small
countries. Our favorites were an image of
Socks the cat playing the saxaphone and a
Trek bike and yellow jersey given by Lance
Armstrong (however, we were amused that
the bike's drive-train was Shimano Ultegra,
not the high end components a president
might expect or deserve).
Music is abundant in Arkansas,
and on another day we stopped
into a guitar shop in Searcy and
admired a wall full of banjos. Two
men sat in the middle of the shop,
happily strumming away. The
younger guitar player was
accompanying his 85-year-old
friend on the mandolin.
The Ozark town of Mountain View
hosts a huge Folk Music Festival every
year, and when we visited, the town was
gearing up for the festivities.
All the buildings in this town have stone
walls that are a pretty yellow-orange hue.
Mountain View is
a wonderful Main
Street walking
town, great for
browsing and
window shopping.
Mark found a perfect seat for himself outside a furniture
shop that features oversized furniture made of rough hewn
logs.
Inside, I spotted a sign whose words ring true for us. On
days like this, when we discover a new town or place that
lifts our spirits, we feel the fleeting nature of time and
preciousness of every moment more intensely than we ever did in our old lives.
We turned a corner and saw two old men
happily whiling away the hours whittling large
wooden cooking spoons. They were creating
a large pile of cedar shavings as they
whittled, and we watched them for a long
time. They expertly rotated the wood in their
hands and shaved off paper thin strips of
wood, working together in contented silence.
Not far from where they sat, Mark discovered the "Pickin' Porch"
where musicians gather to harmonize. What a cool town. We want
to return some year when the music festival is in full swing.
Across the street is an old Victorian building that houses a large
music store, and Mark tried a variety of guitars. Many were very
ornate with elaborate headstocks and inlaid wood on the guitar body.
A few miles outside of town we found the Dulcimer Shoppe where
beautiful mountain dulcimers are hand crafted and sold. Long ago we
had visited a tiny dulcimer store in Sedona, Arizona, where the shop
owner was playing "Feelin' Groovy" by Simon and Garfunkle. This
memory had remained with us over the years, so whenever we
thought of dulcimers we thought of that Sedona shop owner playing
that song.
As soon as we walked into the Dulcimer Shoppe in Mountain View,
Arkansas, Mark asked Judy, who was showing us dulcimers, if she could
play "Feelin' Groovy." I laughed -- how could she just come up with that
out of thin air? She asked Mark to hum a few lines, and within minutes
she was playing it expertly on her dulcimer!
She called out to
her boss, Jim
Woods, owner of the store: "Get a base and accompany me!" He obliged,
and all of a sudden we were being treated to a spirited rendition of the
Simon and Garfunkle classic.
Jim had worked in the corporate world in Texas for too many years and
came out to Mountain View to buy the Dulcimer Shoppe and start a new
life. His love of music and beautiful instruments is infectious, and he
casually grabbed an autoharp as he told us his story and began playing for
us. Back behind a wall of glass we watched the dulcimers being lovingly
made.
Deep in the Ozarks, we felt like we were reaching into the heart of
American culture, one that is home grown, a little rough around the edges perhaps, and lacking any kind of commercial spin. So it
surprised us as we drove along the rural roads and suddenly found ourselves scanning the radio dial and counting eight radio
stations broadcasting in Spanish. As we listened to a Mexican um-pah beat for a while, I thought of my German ancestors who had
settled in Wisconsin in the mid-1800's. The parents spoke German exclusively at home, and only two of the four children were
born on US soil. At night the father read aloud to the family by oil lamp. He would read latest Charles Dickens novel translated into
German. Suddenly the Spanish radio reaching out to Latinos in the Ozarks made sense and
seemed as American to me as everything else we had seen in Arkansas.
With these thoughts in mind, we pulled into Bentonville, Arkansas, arguably the birthplace of
modern America's consumer based economy and, by extension, possibly the very heart of
modern America.
It is the home of the Walton family's retail dynasty and site of Sam Walton's first store,
predecessor to today's Walmart chain. Opened May 9th, 1950, the storefront is humble and
simple, not even the largest building
on the block. It faces a town square
which is built around a large statue of
a confederate soldier.
Unlike most American small towns,
this one is flush with Walmart money, and there is a
plaque thanking a Walmart CEO for the investment
the company has made in sprucing up the town.
Every building on the square sports a fresh coat of
paint and bright clear windows, a rarity in small
town America where boarded up windows and
vacant store fronts are far more common. Walton's
store is now a Walmart visitors center, and there
are wonderful black and white photos from the
1950's showing the store's simple beginnings.
Sam's plan was to make just one cent profit on every item in the
store, regardless of what the "market value" might be. He
resented the way small town proprietors tended to overcharge for
necessities, and his intention was to bring the prices that were
available to big city residents to all the small towns of America. He
bought an airplane to make it easy to visit his far-flung stores, and
later said that without Walton Aviation, Walmart never would have
become what it did.
It is ironic that by trying to serve the small town American
consumer he also helped put China, India and other distant
societies plunk in the middle of the world
economy. At the same time, he led the
homogenization of small town America, a high
cultural price that we have all happily paid so we
could have easy access to cheap consumer
goods.
Mom-and-pop stores still thrive in other
industries, however, bringing color and charm to
their communities, and our sampling of Arkansas music shops had proven that. Mark
especially liked the local Bentonville bike shop, Phat Tire (one of his favorite beers as well).
On their front door they replaced the traditional door handle with a mountain bike frame.
The list of local weekend rides they had posted looked very tempting too.
However, we had an appointment for warranty work on our trailer in Chanute, Kansas, and
we had to keep moving.
Florida Panhandle – Emerald Coast Gems
Apalachicola oyster boats
The Apalachicola Sponge Museum
Inside the Sponge Museum - lots of cool antiques
Storefronts in Apalachicola
St. George Island offers a quiet bay and beaches.
This guy sunned himself for hours while campers stopped for photos
St. George Island State Park on a blustery day
Shell-strewn beach
Pine Log State Park
Lake Powell park shrouded in mist
A bald eagle watched us kayaking below
Cycling near Rosemary Beach
Middle Eastern style swimming pool
in a new development
Gulf Islands National Seashore - what a spot!
The Emerald Coast
Crashing surf - Gulf Islands National Seashore
Hurricanes Ivan and Dennis hit this coast back to back.
The surf and winds were so powerful the entire road was
hurtled hundreds of yards away, in rumpled pieces.
Sugar sand beaches line the Emerald Coast
The sand is so white and so thick it looks like snow.
Love on the beach
Sunset from our doorway
A great shoreside spot to spend a few days.
Apalachicola, St. George Island, Gulf Islands Nat'l Seashore, FL
February, 2009 - We continued our tour of the state parks in Florida's
Forgotten Coast, leaving St. Joseph State Park and stopping in the
cute seaside town of Apalachicola on our way to St. George Island State
Park. We had visited Apalachicola last year and been enchanted by its
unique shops and history, and we found it equally charming on our
second visit.
The town was once a bustling cotton shipping port, and it now harbors a
sizeable fleet of oyster boats. There was an active sponge harvesting
industry too, and the Sponge Museum offered not only a glimpse of that
unusual industry but a terrific collection of curious antiques as well.
We picked up another jar of the semi-sweet locally harvested Tupelo
honey and spent a happy morning wandering through the many
shops in town.
Over on St. George Island we checked into the state park that fills the tip
of a long, narrow sand peninsula. Like St. Joseph, this park borders
both a shallow saltwater bay and the Gulf coast. The bay is sleepy, lined
with skinny trees with exposed roots. We learned that a tidal surge had
covered the entire end of the island in recent years, leaving the bayside
trees immersed in salt water longer than they liked, and sadly killing many of them.
This gives the bayside a slightly haunted look.
Lots of swamp creatures
patrol the area, and we
noticed unusual birds standing
in the trees and a sneaky
alligator biding his time at the
water's edge.
The coastal beaches were
wind-blown and blustery when
we were there. At night the
roar of the waves on the
beach filled the trailer, even
though the campground is a
healthy distance from the
beach.
The beaches extend for many miles, and we did lots of invigorating
walks along the water's edge. The seashells were abundant, as they
had been at St. Joseph State Park, and the campground had a
lovely display giving the names of all the different creatures' shells
that could be found along the beach.
Leaving the Forgotten Coast, we ventured slightly west and stayed in
two more parks. Pine Log State Park boasts vast stands of pines, a
terrific mountain biking trail (this from an avowed roadie who does not
particularly enjoy mountain biking) and a lovely row of campsites
overlooking a pond.
Lake Powell park sits on the edge of a lake that was the perfect
place for kayak exploration. The morning awoke under a shroud of
thick mist that gave the park's trees a mystical look.
Later in the day, once the sun was
victorious over the fog, we took the
kayak into the far corners of the lake
where we spotted a Bald Eagle. He
watched our bright yellow craft for a
long suspicious while and finally flew
off with a majestic sweep of his
wings.
This portion of the Emerald Coast has
a few upscale communities, and we
rode our bikes through the South
Walton Beach and Rosemary Beach
areas one morning. Like everywhere
else in this country, many developers'
dreams have evaporated in all stages
of construction since the housing market crash (not to
mention this area's sudden face-off with nature in a
series of hurricanes). We rode through a community of
graceful homes that stopped sprouting when only about
20% were built. Boardwalks meandered through the
community and over waterways, offering pretty views of
what could have been.
A fellow cyclist stopped and took our photo in front of
the grand entrance to the strip of road that defines a
particularly ritzy part of the coast.
She recommended that we check out the Middle
Eastern style swimming pool that was the central
attraction of one new development. I wouldn't have
thought that this distinctly Arabic looking community
would have been a big seller among Americans in this
era, but sure enough, we saw several sales people with
clipboards in hand and prospective customers in tow.
Further west along the Emerald Coast we
discovered the Gulf Islands National
Seashore. This jewel of a drive presents
the stunning coast at its best, especially
on bright sunny days. The sand is
blindingly white, and the water is truly
green in places. We walked the beach
and our shorts soon gave way to bathing
suits and frolicks in the waves.
The signs warned of rip-tides, but just like the warnings of bison gorings
at Yellowstone, you don't really take those things seriously at first glance.
I was mighty curious about the dark green band of water that is behind
Mark in this photo. It beckoned me in the way that ocean water always
has since I was a a small child. I just had to find out how deep it was
there. So I bounded out into the waves, going from waist deep to over
my head in one step. Hmmm... it was deep! I turned around to swim in
and soon found that my most powerful strokes were not moving me
forward. Mark stood on the edge of the water, just 100 feet from me, but
despite my best effort, I couldn't make any progress towards him.
Suddenly the sign about rip-tides came back to me. Is this a rip-tide?
Yikes! What had the sign said about them? I had no idea. Mark was
yelling something at me from the beach, but I couldn't hear. I just dug in and swam towards him for all I was worth, valiantly
ignoring the rising feeling of panic in my heart. In a few minutes (that felt like forever), I finally found my footing on the sand, dug
my toes in, and hiked my way back to him, uphill in aggressive water. I stood next to him on the beach, trying not to let my
pounding heart and panting breath be noticeable, and feigned nonchalance about the whole thing. "Great workout!" I said
cheerfully. Mark quietly shook his head at me, hands on his hips. "Didn't you read the sign? Swim sideways, parallel to the beach,
when you are in a rip-tide." ... Oh, that's the trick!
The power of the ocean is deceptive along this idyllic stretch of coast,
with its shimmering, rich shades of turquoise. The waves show dark
green just before they break, and the sandpipers dart in and out of the
water effortlessly, living their entire lives on the edge. However, we
learned from a local ocean kayaker that in 2004 Hurricane Ivan
completely destroyed the road along this strip of land, effortlessly
tossing it in tiny pieces all over the inland side of the peninsula.
Eager to stay on top of repairs, the state replaced the road
immediately. Five days after reopening the road, Hurricane Dennis
roared through. The sea chewed up the new road and spewed it all
over the bayside dunes a second time. I was stunned to walk the
dunes and find evidence of this man's story all over the place, as far
as 300 yards from the road.
This savage aspect of nature seems
implausible as you sift the fine sugar
white sand through your hands. In
places along the Gulf Islands National
Seashore it looked more like snow
than like sand.
It had the same texture as the sand
we found in the Coral Pink Sand
Dunes park in Utah, but here it was
pure white rather than a rusty burnt
orange. Riding our bikes alongside
the sand "snowdrifts," we thought of
all our friends and family who have had such a
snowy winter in Michigan.
The spectacular scenery on these glorious sunny days brought out the most
romantic notions in everyone along the beach. It is a place for lovers, and this
young couple found each other quite irresistable.
We stayed along the beach for many days, watching the coast change from minute
to minute as a series of storms blew through. It was the perfect place to slow down
again and get back in touch with ourselves and with nature before heading on to
Alabama and a gradual trek west with a fun return visit to the Natchez Trace.
Florida Panhandle – Don’t Forget the “Forgotten Coast”
Delta Downs horse parade
"And they're off!"
Mark would have put money on this horse...
Our greeters at the first sight of the ocean in Florida
Young love on the beach
Panama City Beach
Mexico Beach
The Driftwood Inn
Mini-chapel, a labor of love
Rare white squirrel at Ochlockonee River State Park
Walking trails and "pecker pines" at Ochlockonee
River State Park
Ochlockonee River
Hobie inflatable kayak, with paddles AND pedals
Gulf Coast at St. Joseph State Park
The beaches are serene and quiet
St. Joseph, bayside.
Grandson & grandpa fish from shore.
St. Joseph State Park
St. Joseph State Park
Pelicans enjoy their view of the "Forgotten Coast."
Beautiful boardwalks through the pines and
grasslands in St. Joseph State Park
Delta Downs Race Track, LA, & "The Forgotten Coast" FL
February, 2009 - We left San Diego and started a cross-country trek to
visit Mark's son at Navy Dive School in Panama City, Florida. We didn't
intend to cover the distance quickly, but suddenly found ourselves doing
400-500 mile days. I-10 through Texas stretches for 880 miles, and you
get a sense of treading water somewhere around San Antonio. We
wondered if we'd ever get out of Texas. So it was with exhaustion and
relief that we finally pulled off the interstate in Louisiana to stop at Delta
Downs Casino.
We were simply
hoping for a
quiet night's
sleep, but when
I began to
close the
shades I noticed that there was a horse racetrack right behind where we
were parked, and the stadium lights were on! We wandered over, and
suddenly found ourselves swept up in the horse racing scene.
I had never been to a racetrack before, and I was amazed as the
horses were paraded and their credentials were read by the
announcer. The jockeys were smaller than the Tour-de-France
cyclists who specialize in climbing, and the horses were lean, fit and
eager to race.
The betting office opened, the stats for each horse were displayed on a
huge electronic board, and a line of seasoned racetrack bettors
suddenly formed.
While the TV cameras rolled, a gun went off, and the ground
rumbled beneath our feet. Suddenly, a hurtling pack of hooves and
snorting nostrils streaked past us.
As a little boy, Mark spent a lot of
time at the horse races with his
beloved grandpa, and he had told
me, "Watch horse #2." Sure
enough, that horse won, and
Mark caught the winning moment
on camera. Too bad he hadn't
bet a buck or so on that horse, it
would have been a really good
payout!
That happy evening's unplanned
entertainment put smiles on our
faces that were still there two
days later when a group of
seagulls greeted us at the first
tiny beach on the Emerald Coast
in Florida. Panama City Beach
was just
starting a warm
spell when we
arrived, and we
made a beeline
for the famed
spring
breakers'
beach.
There is something about turquoise water and white sand
and young lovers romping around that makes the heart sing.
Panama City Beach is an arcade and mini-golf heaven, but
the beach is pure and true, even though high-rises anchor it
to the modern era.
We took a side trip to Mexico
Beach, a delightful, tiny, seaside
community that is all low-rise
buildings offering more of that
beautiful sugar-sand beach.
Friends of ours were staying at
the Driftwood Inn, a beautiful
property that is worth a visit even if you aren't lucky
enough to get a room. It is charming and artsy and a
little funky, with antiques and a unique mini-chapel that
the original owner built for his wife.
From Mexico Beach we began a tour
of three state parks along the
"Forgotten Coast." The first was
Ochlockonee River State Park, a
lovely park amid thousands of skinny
"pecker pines."
We had read that "a patient observer
may be rewarded with a sighting of
the rare white squirrel, a local
mutation that is not an albino."
On our very first hike we saw one.
What luck! Like many park
animals, he was unafraid of us,
and he busied himself eating nuts
and scampering up and down
tree trunks without the slightest
concern for our presence.
This park sits at the confluence of
two rivers and has several pretty
hiking trails. We had just
purchased an inflatable tandem
kayak as a combination 5th
anniversary gift and pair of
birthday gifts for each other, and
we couldn't wait to launch it in the
river. It is a very cool kayak that has
pedals as well as paddles, perfect for
a pair of cyclists. And it fits in our basement (barely!).
The air was about 50 degrees when we first set it up on the river's edge, and we were both
bundled in many layers of clothing. Mark hopped in and situated himself while I chatted with a
pair of experienced kayakers who had just shown up on the beach.
"Does that have pedals?" the veteran kayaker asked me. "Yeah!" I said proudly, "Isn't it cool?
This is our first time out!" I confidently put one foot in the kayak to launch it, taking care not to
get my other foot wet as I pushed off from the shore. In an instant, I was over the side, one leg
looped over the edge of the boat, hanging on for dear life, while the other sank steadily deeper
until I was submerged, half under the boat, in cold water up to my neck. "Sweety!' Mark called
out. "You didn't want to get your feet wet, and now look at you!"
Very funny!
I found my footing and scrambled ashore, squeezing gallons of water out of the arms of my
jacket. Why do these kinds of things always happen with an audience? After a change of
clothes and a few colorful remarks from yours truly, we eventually got the kayak launched, both
of us dry and in the proper seats in the boat. What a blast. It flies along effortlessly and opens
up all kinds of possibilities for exploration we could never do from shore.
We moved over to St. Joseph State Park where we spent a few days perched on the end of a
long skinny peninsula of sand. The roar of the waves lulled us to sleep every night,
accompanied only occasional by an owl nearby our campsite.
We had stayed there last year, but
we got better weather this year
(fewer bugs)
and enjoyed
many
wonderful
beach-combing
walks along the
shore.
My mom visited
us for a week,
and as we
walked and
talked, catching up on all kinds of things, we had to stop every so often to
look around and soak in the gorgeous colors. The many pretty shells
evoked all kinds of creative ideas for crafts and decorations, as well as
thoughts of the creatures that had once lived inside.
It is fortunate that this is the
"Forgotten Coast," because it is
very sleepy and almost feels
undiscovered. The sugar sand
brings out the kid in
everyone, and a grandson-
grandpa pair were fishing
happily from the shore,
poles vertical and ready,
and souls relaxed and free.
As we asked the many
fishermen along the beach
what they were catching,
everyone had hopes for various kinds of fish, but no one was
catching much of anything, and nobody seemed to care either. It
was too beautiful to feel anything but joy at being alive.
St Joseph State Park opens onto a shallow bay as well as the
Gulf, and the bay side retains some of the swampy feeling of the
inland rivers. The shorebirds like to mingle with the swamp
birds, and the brackish water from the rivers mixes with the tidal
waters of the ocean.
Everywhere you look you feel
the essence of peace.
Boardwalks connect the two
campgrounds, taking strollers
on a tour of the marshlands.
Mom and I sat for a while,
contemplating the swaying
grasses and the ibis and
herons that stalked their prey
among the rushes. It was an
easy decision to stay in
Florida's Panhandle a bit longer.
San Diego – Magical Seaport Village
Kona Kai Marina
Pelican resting
Bird sculpture
Bike sculpture
Bottlenose Dolphin Sculpture
Kaleidoscope Interactive Sculpture
Historical Maritime Museum Ship
Marlin leaps across the Star of India's bow.
Street performing sculpture jumps
to life as we pass.
Bikes are an important part of San
Diego culture
Pedalcabs cruise the boardwalks along the water.
Mark and I mimic the famous WWII
victory sculpture.
Tourists learn their fortunes from a psychic.
Another street vendor offers parrot
cuddling for donations.
Ahh... I get one of several bird fixes during my San
Diego visit.
San Diego -- what a city!
Beneteaus line the entrance to the boat show.
Yeah, I could live here!
Familiar but a little different than our fifth wheel.
Not bad for living aboard.
An Umbrella Cockatoo peers down at me from a
swaying palm.
Dave takes his cockatoo out for a
fly in the late afternoon.
She loves every minute of her freedom.
Bird of Paradise flower.
Good night fun, vibrant city.
Seaport Village & Boat Show, San Diego, CA
January, 2009 - We snuck away from the Arizona Desert and all the
holiday parties and good cheer and took a quick trip back to San Diego
for the annual January sailboat show. We had had such a good time
there in October (Shelter Island and Mission Bay) that we wondered
if it would still be as nice. Sure enough, as we pulled onto Shelter
Island, all the warm vibes we had felt in this spirited town came back.
It was bright and sunny, warm enough for shorts, and we were
surprised to recognize all the RVs lined up on the waterfront. No one
had left!
We took our place among
them and quickly hopped
on our bikes to check out
all our old favorite haunts.
Not too much had changed
-- Kona Kai Marina was as
graceful as before, the pelicans still roosted and floated, soared and dove as they had
before, and the Navy jets and cruise ships and people walking their dogs and sailboats
criss-crossing the harbor still provided a kaleidoscopic backdrop to life on the
harborfront.
The boat show was way down at the other end of San Diego, and for the first time we
rode our bikes over to Seaport Village. It is a six mile ride along the bike paths and
walking trails, and it brings you all the way around the harbor through the historic Old
Town. This is an outdoor city that comes alive in the sunshine. There is a series of
charming sculptures along this boardwalk. I liked the bird sculpture and Mark liked the
wild-haired cyclist.
There was a lot of whimsy in
these sculptures, and one was
called "Bottlenose Dolphins" and
featured blue glass bottles on the
noses of the dolphins. Another
was a giant kaleidoscope that
had lots of hand cranks and
beautiful colors when you peered
through it.
There is an extensive historical
maritime museum featuring
several ships of different eras
that are tied up at the docks for
tourists to walk through. A
glistening, iridescent statue of a
marlin appeared to leap out of the
waves across the bow of the Star
of India ship behind.
Street performers and vendors of
all kinds line the boardwalks and
grassy areas, giving the city a
friendly, funky air. One
apparently simple silver statue of
a man in a suit suddenly came to
life and made a face at us as we
rode by.
The boardwalks and paths are ideal for biking.
To see it all would make for a very long walk,
but taken slowly on a bike you can enjoy
everything that Old Town and Seaport Village
have to offer. Along with the cycling statue we
saw earlier, there were other sculptural
references to bikes along the boardwalk.
Many tourists opt for a ride in a pedal-cab, and
we passed lots of these energetic cabbies toting
passengers all over the place.
Around one corner we came face
to face with a sculptural
representation of the famed WWII
photo of a sailor kissing a nurse
upon the victory of the Allies. We
couldn't resist mimicking the
smooch, and found a friendly
fellow to take our picture. He and
his large extended family of wife,
kids, parents and others all got a
huge laugh as we tried to get
ourselves situated just right and
asked him to re-take the photo
several times.
If you have something to sell or share with tourists, it
seems that the vending space is available. A psychic
found a lovely spot for her umbrella-shaded table under
a tree, and another man brought out his collection of
parrots for people to play with, in hopes of a donation. I
got my bird fix!
I lived on the Boston waterfront
in a sailboat for four years, but
beautiful as that city is, there is no comparison to San Diego for
warmth of spirit and oceanside magic. San Diego harbor is
completely accessible to everyone. Simply stroll along the water's
edge and you are thrust into the midst of the harbor's vibrant
energy. There are many marinas, and a boat owner can choose
to be situated right among the sky scraping posh hotels downtown,
or over in the more suburban and natural atmosphere of Shelter
Island.
We finally made it to the boat show, our hearts filled with
satisfaction already. As usual, it was a blast. All the boats were
beautiful, and it was easy to dream, along with all the other show-
goers, as we waltzed on and off these lovely yachts. After living in
the confines of a trailer for a 20 months, it was amusing to stand in
each of the boats' cabins and compare the layouts.
Back on Shelter Island we heard the strangest sound coming from the trees. I thought it must
be a young gull that was sick. It was an insistent call, higher pitched than a gull, but with a
similar volume. We walked around the parking lot craning our necks as we stared into the trees.
Then I spotted it -- an Umbrella Cockatoo! She was
clinging to the branches of a palm tree, swinging up and
down, calling out in sheer glee.
I would have been totally stunned to see her there if I
hadn't heard earlier about "The Bird Man" who lived in a
motorhome along the street. We were told he would
sometimes free fly his cockatoo in the late afternoons.
At last we would have a chance to meet him! Dave
showed up on his bike, and after a few minutes his
cockatoo "Bubbi" flew down and landed on his shoulder.
She clucked in his ear and walked down his arm, beak-
by-toe as parrots do, until she was settled on his bike
basket.
I was entranced. I owned two lesser sulphur crested
cockatoos at one time and would have loved to have
given them the freedom of outdoor flight, but I was too
afraid. Dave had no such fear, and his cockatoo
showed off for us for an hour. She swooped from tree
to tree, making impossible landings on swaying
branches that gave her quite a ride as she hung on
with beak and claw, pumping the branches up and
down with powerful flaps of her wings while she
shrieked at the top of the her lungs. A seagull flew by
her at one point and gave her a disapproving stare, but
she didn't care, she was free. Shouldn't we all live that
way.
Our three-day visit for the boat show turned into a 10-day stay. Yet
again, we couldn't tear ourselves away from this enchanting place.
Finally our grey and black water tanks told us it was time to leave, and
we ventured back through Phoenix and on to a cross-country trip to the
It was only after we had been in Florida for a month that we discovered
San DIego had passed a law prohibiting RVs from parking overnight on
Shelter Island. I understand their point -- we met RVers who had lived on
those streets for as much as nine years, and that's not right -- but it is a
shame that such a beautiful city has turned its back on budget RV
travelers who would like to experience its uplifting spirit for a few days or
weeks. It wouldn't have been that hard or that costly to implement a system to monitor and limit RV stays.
Fiery Sunsets and Interesting Folks in the Arizona Desert
Groups mark their territories and gather in the desert
in Quartzsite.
Whiling away the morning making music in the desert.
"Rowdy" of Cutler's Bull & Donkey Show
Quartzsite welcomes
characters of all kinds....
....no dress code required.
People come from all over, any way they can.
I heard a noise and looked out the window to see this
plane land a few feet from our trailer!
The desert pilots fly all manner of craft, but they have
nothing on the natural airborne essence of the
hummingbirds.
Sunrise
Sunset
Classic Sonoran Desert scenery at the White Tanks
mountains west of Phoenix.
The small cholla cactus applaud the silent, serene
performance of the Saguaros.
Water !!
And here it is, about 200 yards from the rock sign that the
ancients carved.
Arizona Deserts
December, 2008 and January 2009 - After Yuma, we stopped in Quartzsite en route to Phoenix for the holidays. This became the
first of a delightful string of reunions with friends and family that filled our winter months, and we returned again in January. As we
first settled into the strange desert living that characterizes boondocking in the Quartzsite BLM land, winter arrived with a
vengeance. The land is ideal for RVs - flat, level, and hard-packed, as if it were paved. But it is very exposed, with only some low
desert scrub brush and the rare saguaro cactus and hummingbird as company. When the wind decides to blow the trailer rocks!
We camped next to our friends Bob & Donna Lea whose 20 years of
experience with winter camping in Arizona's deserts was invaluable as we
tackled the project of installing a new heater. Their warm company made
the chilly, grey days pass very quickly, and we had a chance to compare
our solar setups (see notes at bottom of that page).
Each January, when it plays host to a series of gem shows and the
annual RV show, Quartzsite swells from a truck stop with a few homes
and small
stores to a 120
square mile
parking lot
filled with
retired RVers
from the north
country. RVers gather in groups of all kinds, marking their territory with
signs. "Loners on Wheels," "The Gadabouts," "Escapees Boondockers,"
and manufacturers' rallies fill the desert for miles in every direction. A
paper plate with a couple's names on it and an arrow is enough to signal
friends to a gathering location. There is no reservation system and no
management of these crazed senior citizens, so if you arrive and your
favorite spot is taken, you find another spot.
This year the Montana Owners' rally was the most impressive, even
though they took our friends' preferred spot by their favorite saguaro. The
group drew an enormous circle in the desert floor, and as each rig arrived
it was carefully parked in a spoke pattern around the circle. Some 50
Montana fifth wheels showed up, and
they formed a perfect circle around their
mammoth campfire.
Quartzsite is filled with unusual
characters. As we walked one morning
we passed a couple making music
outside a rig. He had been a
professional musician in his day, and
she was enjoying his pointers and
accompaniment. Another day we were greeted by a
couple that puts on an animal show with their farm
animals in nearby Bouse. They were doing rig-to-rig
advertising as they drove their animals through the
desert and invited people to their show.
Sightings of "rare birds" is common in Quartzsite, and
people watching is great entertainment for everyone.
We visited Paul's Oassis Books
bookstore again, and he was
dressed in his holiday finest.
Seeing Quartzsite out of
season makes you wonder
what would ever draw anyone
to visit this desolate, dusty,
shabby town. But in January
people arrive
from all over,
and the town
comes alive.
We are accustomed to seeing hummingbirds at our trailer window's
feeder, but where else would you peek out your window to see a small
plane land just a few feet away? We got a wave from the pilot when he
took off again!
Not just
Quartzsite's
culture but its
skies come alive
morning and
evening as well.
We were
blessed with
several stunning
sunrises and
sunsets.
I loved the way
the whole desert
sunset scene
would be
reflected in the
rear window of
our trailer.
Between visits
to Quartzsite,
we stopped in
Phoenix for
Christmas. We
took several
wonderful hikes
in the White
Tank mountains
west of the city.
One hike goes to a waterfall that runs
only after a torrential downpour. We were lucky and got a downpour and the waterfall was still
running when we hiked in. I was fascinated to see a rock covered with petroglyphs showing
squiggly horizontal lines. Clearly, the people who lived there a thousand or more years ago
noted the occasional presence of water by pecking out the universally recognized symbol of
water on the rock face.
After the holidays we
snuck back to San Diego
for the January sailboat
show.
Other blog posts from our RV travels to Quartzsite:
- Quartzsite Lite (2022) 03/26/22
- What’s It Like to RV in Quartzsite AZ? Anything Goes! 02/02/16
- Quartzsite RV Show – RV Stuff and So Much More! 01/30/16
- Quartzsite, Arizona – The RV Gathering Place 01/26/16
- The RV Show in Quartzsite AZ – More Than Just RVs! 02/07/15
- Sunset over RVs in Quartzsite AZ 01/24/15
- Quartzsite Arizona – RV Madness in the Desert! 01/21/15
- Fiery Sunsets and Interesting Folks in the Arizona Desert 01/15/09
- Quartzsite, AZ – Snowbird Roost 12/05/07
Our most recent posts:
- Buckskin Mountain State Park – Fun on the Colorado River! 01/31/26
- How to Install Starlink Gen 3 in an RV? Use the Speedmount! 08/07/25
- Escape to Paradise – Rocky Mountain Magic! 08/01/25
- Is Forest River a Good RV? Well Built? Here’s Our Experience 06/20/25
- Sunset Crater Nat’l Monument – Lava & Camels at Bonito CG! 06/06/25
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Yuma, AZ – Prisons and Balloons
A developer's palm tree lined neighborhood street.
The homes were never built.
A Salton Sea inlet where there once was an RV park.
Long Fall shadows from our legs and a
walking stick. Winter was coming.
The landscape of a mixed green salad
Yuma is the capital of leafy greens.
Lakeside in Yuma
Redondo Lake Boondocking
The dust storms are like blizzard white-outs
The morning greeted us with a spectacular sunrise
Steaming tea
Cheery moment - a sailboat passes through
Yuma en route to San Diego
Fantastic adobe houses with brightly glazed tiles
Old Town Yuma
The "Coolest Bar Downtown"
An old-time restaurant
loaded with antiques
and memorabilia
Owner-Operator-
Chef-Musician
Colorado River Crossing Balloon Festival
Heating up the balloon
Keeping the basket grounded
Balloons of all kinds
The Balloon Glow
Yuma Territorial Prison
Prison Guard
Cell block. No one ever escaped from these cells.
Double doors for each
cell
9' x 12' and 6 to a cell
Hike to the Towers
Yuma Lakes RV Park, submerged!
Yuma, Arizona
November 1-30, 2008 - We left San Diego in high spirits, the memories of the fog horns, the salt air, the fresh sailing breezes and
warm air still filling our senses. So it was quite a shock when we climbed the mountains to the east on I-8 and had to brace
ourselves against a nasty wind storm that forced us under way too many blankets at night while the heater ran full blast. We were
in denial about winter coming, and it was a relief when the storm passed and the California deserts at the base of the mountains
warmed us up again. We stopped near Salton City for a few days, and heard the sad tale of the sadly exploited Salton Sea.
Salton Sea - lost treasure
The Sea was once a playground, filled with fish and boats and laughing
kids throwing sticks in the water for their dogs. Sadly, now the beaches
are layered in dead fish on thick beds of bleached non-native barnacle
shells. We rode our bikes through virtual ghost towns along this huge
inland salt lake's shoreline. Palm trees lined would-be neighborhood
streets amid developers' evaporated dreams. Half-built homes had long
ago given up hope for windows and siding, and their yawning open frames
were a stark contrast to the beautiful mountain, beach and waterfront
backdrop.
All are victims
of pesticide
runoff from
adjacent farmlands and
ever-rising salinity
caused by the Sea's
constant evporation.
Former picnic areas, RV
parks, tiki bars and
housing stand vacant,
disintegrating and
forlorn, longing for the
return of ecologically
healthier times that may
never come. The only life is huge flocks of pelicans and ibis that feast on the sole
surviving fish, a tiny non-native species. After talking at length with several long-
time residents about this miserable state of affairs, we moved on, our spirits badly
deflated.
Yuma: desert + water = produce
We went to Yuma, Arizona, hoping for sunlight and some good cycling.
We found both, along with a great place to camp near a small lake along
the edge of vast farmlands. This corner of the world is rich in lettuce,
kale, spinach and other leafy greens.
We hooked up
with Yuma's
Foothills Bike
Club and did
several terrific
rides with
them, getting to
know the back
roads and canal banks around town. Yuma is blistering hot in the
summer but comes to life each winter as residents of the northern states
and provinces arrive in flocks during their annual "snowbird" migration.
Most people we met around town lived in an RV, and there was a festive
air everywhere as old friends arrived and got together again.
One morning we awoke to a spectacular sunrise, but "red sky at morning"
proved true as an amazing wind storm blew into town. The dust swirled until
you couldn't see, making white-out blizzard-like conditions on the roads. The
temperature dropped
and suddenly we were
thrust into winter for
several days. Suddenly
we were drinking
copious cups of hot tea
and taking long turns
over the heat vents to
warm our bones.
We had left San Diego
just a week or so ago, yet all that summertime fun was
quickly fading into a beautiful, distant memory. Sigh.
Winter is not our favorite season. Even in Arizona it is just
too darned cold for too long!
We cheered up immensely one afternoon when we found
ourselves in traffic behind a yacht hauler taking a brand new
boat from Florida to a dealership in San Diego. How ironic that
this very same dealership had taken us on a "test sail" of this
very same boat model just a few weeks ago.
Yuma's Old Town
Yuma has a lot of history, and we spent some
happy afternoons wandering around the Old Town
district. Most of the buildings, dating from 100
years or so ago, are made of adobe brick, so the
walls are enormously thick.
Many are decorated with pretty, brightly
colored, glazed tile, and we learned that
this is "Anglicized Sonoran" architecture.
We wandered down some stairs and
found ourselves in the middle of The
Garden Restaurant, a charming little spot
with tables on many levels, overhanging
branches offering colorful flowers and shade, and birds of
all types singing and squawking in cages along the
perimeter.
In winter especially, this is definitely an outdoor
community, with lots of little boutiques for shopping.
We saw the outside of the "Coolest Bar Downtown" but went
inside the famed Lutes Casino where antiques, memorabilia and
goodies from another era fill the restaurant from floor to ceiling.
A popular hangout for marines from the nearby Air Station, Lutes
has a display with a letter from a homesick marine in Desert
Storm who wrote longingly of how one of their "especial" dinners
(a hot dog and a hamburger) would taste so good right about
now...
As we started to turn back towards the parked truck
we heard the most amazing electric guitar riffs in the
distance. Someone was having fun -- either
listening to something very loud or playing loudly
himself. We followed the sounds to the Mustard Seed Restaurant. The door
was propped open, and a musical firestorm filled our ears as we poked our
heads inside. A young fellow was playing his heart out. He stopped when he
saw us and introduced himself as the Owner-Operator-Chef of the restaurant.
"I'm just checking out the sound system. Come back tonight at 9:00 and I'll be
jamming with some friends."
Balloon Festival
Yuma hosts the Colorado River Crossing Balloon
Festival each year, and we went to the fairgrounds to
see the Balloon Glow one evening. One by one, at
least 25 balloons were laid out on the grass and filled
with hot air.
Balloon teams come to Yuma from all over for this festival, and each team expertly
raised their balloon to vertical and kept its basket tied to the ground so it wouldn't
float off.
There were traditional balloon shapes, a few with advertisers' names displayed, and
even one lady bug balloon.
As the sun set the spectators streamed in and the glow
began. An announcer would get the balloonists to
coordinate their flame blasts so that all the balloons would
light up together. The balloons can't take the hot air for
too long at a time, or they will try to float away,
so the balloons would glow together for just a
few moments and then go dark to cool down.
There were two balloon launches during the weekend as
well, but they required getting up and driving a long ways
before dawn, and both mornings we opted to stay in our
warm bed with the down comforters pulled over our heads.
Yuma Territorial Prison
Back when Arizona was young -- in
1876 when it was just a territory and
not yet a state -- it became home to
the Territorial Prison. Arizona
distributed its various government
responsibilities between the three major
settlements: Phoenix vied for the eventual
state capitol, Tucson nourished the seedling
public university, and Yuma got the prison.
This shaped the future state's personality:
Phoenix is the hub of commerce, Tucson is
the cultural mecca, and Yuma, well, Yuma
gave the prison to Florence in 1909 and
concentrated on agriculture and winter visitors.
This prison was nicknamed "The Hellhole of the West." Out of ~3,000
prisoners only 26 ever escaped from the cell blocks. No wonder: the cells
were steel cages covered with granite, and
each cell had a double door. The first
prisoners had the privilege of building the
prison before moving in, which reminded me
of New Hampshire's modern day inmates
stamping out license plates with the motto
"Live Free or Die."
Each cell had six bunks, but as the years
went by they sometimes had to house more
than six men. The single, shared chamber
pot was emptied once a day. Bedbugs
lived in the wooden bunks and ate the
prisoners raw until the wooden bunks
were finally burned and replaced with
steel. There was a "dark cell" that offered solitary confinement for disruptive prisoners. We crept
into this pitch black hole that had housed a 5'x5' steel cage where prisoners spent anywhere from
one to over 100 nights. The only light came from a tiny shaft above. No chamber pot here: the
floor of the cage was cleaned every few months. Yikes. Several women were rewarded for their
bad behavior with a stint in the dark cell too.
Hikes and Walks
There are pretty hikes in the hills around Yuma, and we ventured up a
very steep hill one morning to get a commanding view of the farmlands
and city.
Winter pressed on as November drew to a close, and we were deluged
with two days of torrential rain. Nearby Yuma
Lakes RV Park became submerged, and the
reflections of the rigs in the standing water made
some colorful photos on our daily walks.
We stayed in Yuma for all of November, 2008, slowly adjusting to the fact that
winter was here and wasn't going to leave any time soon. We got word from
friends we had met last year in Quartzsite that they were returning, so we
finally packed up and made the short trek north to one of the world's oddest
temporary communities: the BLM land surrounding the truck-stop town of
Quartzsite, Arizona. For the next two months we hovered in and around
San Diego – Laid Back Mission Bay
A sailboat heads out of Mission Bay to the open ocean
Bird of Paradise in Mission Bay
Tranquility and peace reign at
Mission Bay
Cycling the paths along the Mission Bay beach villas
Mission Beach cottages open onto the wide sandy beach
Charming beach houses line the boardwalk
Pacific Beach - kite-boarding paradise.
Surf shops.
Anyone can learn to surf here, though the buff bod
may be harder to achieve.
SoCal is truly laid back
A modern day Jesus Freak?
Any smaller, older RV will do.
Jerry relaxes in the back of his toy hauler.
Horses cool their hooves along the beaches at Fiesta
Island
Life's a Beach on Fiesta Island
Hotel del Coronado.
Mission Bay, San Diego, CA
October 1-28, 2008 - A few times during our stay in San Diego, we
moved our RV from Shelter Island to Mission Bay. We (and at least 50
other RVs) were doing the "San Diego Shuffle," moving our rigs around
on the city's waterfront streets to stay in line with California's 72-hour
parking law. As long as we all moved every three days, we could enjoy
the many delights of this beautiful city and gaze at prime multi-million
dollar waterfront views right outside our doors.
The serenity
of Mission Bay
is a dramatic
contrast to the
hustle and
bustle of Shelter Island. Also manmade, from sand dredged out of San
Diego Harbor, Mission Bay is a series of waterways through former
mudflats, with the land forming quasi-islands and little peninsulas. The
manicured grass lawns along the bay are largely city parks, and there
are many children's playgrounds, picnic areas and even large bonfire
rings along the beaches. The tall palms and sparkling water offer a calm
retreat from downtown San Diego.
The walking and bicycling paths go on for miles, and we had many happy bike rides in and
around the bay and along Mission Beach. There are endless charming beachfront villas on both
the placid bay side and on the surfing beach side. Each home is unique, and they line up cheek-
by-jowel, with patios and porches facing the lovely views. Most are available as vacation rentals.
We rode our bikes along the Mission
Beach boardwalk up as far as Pacific
Beach, making the transparent
transition from one miles-long
expanse of sandy beach to the next.
Pacific Beach was teaming with
people kite-boarding. Each had a
huge parachute, and they used the
wind to skim across the ocean on their
surfboards.
Surfing is a beloved passtime in this area, and we saw surf shops,
surfers and surfer dudes that were right out of a Beach Boys song.
Sea World is tucked into one corner of the Bay, and bike rentals and
people on
bikes were everywhere.
This is a very laidback
area, where surf, sun,
sand and beach bars all
come together in a
dreamy combination. As
we drove one afternoon,
we passed a young
fellow playing his guitar
while he rode his bike.
Not too much stress
there! Others just rolled
along the sidewalk on
beach cruisers.
The best way to enjoy San Diego is to have a
lot of money (for a pretty multi-million dollar
beach bungalow, a convertible roadster and a
yacht) and to have a lot of time to enjoy them
(i.e., no job). Most people we saw seemed to
have either one or the other.
This can be an eclectic crowd too. We saw a
strangely painted car, several perfectly
restored Microbuses, and an odd collection of
RVs.
In Mission Bay, the older the RV, it seems, the better. The
shapes of some are from a long distant era, while others are
clearly homemade.
The "San Diego Shuffle" of RVs moving from one parking
space to another is actually something of a two-step in
Mission Bay, as parking is prohibited between 2:00 a.m. and 4:00 a.m. Each evening a parade of RVs makes its way
out of the Mission Bay parking areas into the industrial city streets on the far side of the freeway. Early each morning
the RVs return, many to the same spot they had the day before.
The best setup we saw was Jerry's. He towed his toyhauler "office"
trailer behind his Class C motorhome, and on lazy afternoons he would
string up a hammock inside his "office" trailer, taking in the view of the
Bay from his swing.
The stories of each household living in their RV were
varied, but a common concern was the upcoming city vote
on whether to override the California law and ban overnight
parking on public streets. The days of this urban RV lifestyle of freedom on the waterfront may be
numbered. The vote was held on our last day in the city, and we didn't hear the outcome.
One day we parked our trailer out on Fiesta Island, a tiny dot of California desert perched in the middle of
the Mission Bay. The dry, brown, tumbleweed land is sparsely visited, and we had a stretch of beach all
to ourselves. As we sat there enjoying the view of the homes across the water, a group of horses
suddenly appeared, splashing in the water as they walked.
The weather was unusually warm
for October (90's), and we spent
much of the month in tank tops
and shorts. A visit to Coronado
Beach offered delicious relief from the heat one afternoon, and we
played in the sand and waves. On a return visit we discovered the
history and beauty of the Victorian Hotel del Coronado that presides
over one end of the beach.
After a month of coastal pleasures,
we felt a little nip in the air as the
fog banks crept in and stayed
longer and longer each morning. It
was time to move on, and we
headed inland to the California
desert of Anza-Borrego. But the
temps were falling fast, and we
continued on to the warmest of the
southwestern desert areas in