FRIENDS

The sun crawls from it’s evening’s sleep inching up behind a range of mountains to my left and silhouetting angular peaks against a golden raspberry horizon.  Stretching full, north to south across the landscape all about is still, nothing moves, even the wispy Palo Verde branches are motionless without a trace of breeze.

Widowers abound in the RV world, second lifers. I think of them as folks with children that have flown the nest and gone off to seek their own fortune, lost their life’s mate for what ever reason, hooked up with a new buddy and set out to see the country in an RV. Canes and walking sticks are as common as gray hair and false teeth that flash myriads of smiles numerous as stars in the Milky Way.

L to R~~ Jackie, Donna, Richard, Jerry and Jan

Jerry and Jan Cortez from Fruita, CO. enjoying 6 weeks away from their work-a-day life. Open and giving with smiles, homemade menuto (cow stomach) soup and great campfire stories.  Jerry's wry humor, "I don't like Mexicans," and a silence settles over the flickering embers.  Jerry breaks the stillness, "I'm a "Beaner" through and through, even if my dad insisted he was from Portugal," and laughs with infectious guffaws inviting all of us to chorus of mirth.  A man with confidence that offers himself as the joke is a man of self-assurance.

Jackie with walking stick and rock bag searching for another pretty rock to add to her collection.

     Dainty Desert Hideseed

Starling~In three days this is the only bird I saw in the area. I think he was off course.

When it gets too warm outside we come inside for the shade.

Nothing beats a blazing fire on a cool night in the desert.

FOR THE BIRDS

Here’s a collection of birds collected for my “Life List” in the past couple of weeks along the Colorado River and Mojave Valley. Many are only seen here out west so I thought my Eastern friends would enjoy a peek at the peeps.

ALBERT'S TOHEE

BLACK PHOEBE

GAMBEL'S QUAIL MALE

GAMBEL'S QUAIL FEMALE

TREE SWALLOW

YELLOW RUMPED WARBLER

YELLOW RUMPED WARBLER with breakfast in his beak.

GREAT BLUE HERON

And in the wildflower department

Golden Crownbeard

Baha Fairy Duster

Wild Lupin

And the dawning of a new day in the desert.

Morning light

Home away from home.

HE WHO LAUGHS LAST, LAUGHS BEST

Boondocking out here in the California desert one would never expect the likes of what happened here yesterday. Here we are, a mile and a half off the main highway, on a bumpy, rutted gravel road and all of a sudden such a terrible clunking and banging did commence that I thought sure the Second Coming had begun. I looked around to the south, in the direction of that God-awful noise, and here banging down the ruts, the same ones we had so delicately traversed at 5 mph the day previous, came an 18 wheeler throwing up a cloud of dust a stampeding herd of cattle in the days of drought could only produce. Surely this driver is completely mad or so wound-up on those energy drinks, he completely forgot which road he was supposed to be on.

The big tractor-trailer stopped at the same place we were forced to turn around because of the many deep hills and swales that meets the eye at the top of a rise. I heard a gnashing of gears and that big rig began to emerge from the cloud of dust he’d kicked up. It rolled back a hundred yards over the rutty road and settled neatly on a little siding. I’ll give that driver his dues, he sure knew how to handle the wheel.

Now all this disturbance and dust was in itself a thing to behold but oh how the mind has a way of wandering and creating scenarios why this monster should be way out on desert BLM land.

The door of the tractor cab opens and out steps a string bean of a fellow, black street shoes, black socks to mid calf and a back pack slung over his shoulder. Off he tromps up the road and disappears over the rise.

Jackie and I thought long and hard and came up with a dozen different reasons for this out-of-place big rig, finally settling on “drug drop” as number one on the list.

I had gone out walking the boulder strewed landscape, was partway up the side of a small mountain, bending over inspecting a particularly nice piece of red jasper, when I saw down below what I thought to be a BLM patrol car. The driver was out of the vehicle yelling something in my direction which I couldn’t hear. Picking my way down the side of the hill I got close enough to recognize the vehicle as belonging to the sheriff’s department. He was here to investigate the strange appearance of the big rig and wondered if I was the owner. He said that the license plates on the rig didn’t match up when he did a check in the data base and drove off to continue unraveling the mystery.

When I returned to the rig Jackie told me the police had just put a fire ax through the window of the truck’s cab. I watched through the long-lens of the camera as the sheriff’s deputy entered the cab and began searching for anything that might help him gain insight.

While the Sheriff’s deputy rifled the cab up rolls another cop car, a CHP, California Highway Patrol. Through the camera I can see the black uniformed CHP, complete with sunglasses covering a young expressionless face. The deputy begins handing papers from the cab to the CHP and he in turn speaks into this shoulder mike communicating with someone.

During all this search activity, in strides the truck driver carrying a backpack sagging with 80 pounds of rocks. The three stand there looking at one another, and the questions, hand gestures and finger pointing begin.

After the law left, I went down to talk with the driver, William Treachler from Temperance, MI. He tells me that he’s perfectly legal, on a 36 hour mandatory vehicle shutdown and he can do whatever he wants during his downtime. I wondered about the companies concerns he drives for and he says, “Hell, they don’t care where I take the truck as long as I pick-up and deliver the goods,“ He answers. “I work with rocks, cut them and make mural table tops with the assembled slices,” He says with an artists pride grin, and then begins to laugh in a curious way. His small chortles turn into wide open mouth belly guffaws and he holds up a sagging Walmart plastic bag for my view. “They sure tore into everything in the cab,” He says through his snickers and then laughs aloud again. “I had to take a dump and there ain’t no crappers out here so I let er’ go in this bag and tied it tight. I see it’s tied kind of loose now. I bet that deputy got one big surprise when he got a whiff of this,” and he let loose with another roar of laughter.

William gave me a couple of nice rocks from California, a small chunk of obsidian and the other a piece of cut jade. I’m surprised that he never mentioned the smashed window or the police’s actions. I guess it’s all part of the day when you’re are a rock collecting truck driver that takes a big rig into the desert.

He went out early the next morning, filled his backpack again and was back out on the highway by noon.

SOCIAL GRACES

While Jackie went into the Bullhead City, NV grocery to do the weeks shopping, I sat in the RV watching and musing life's passerbys.  On the corner there sat a more than well used pick-up with an abnormally huge cab-over camper with little hands pressed against the inside window, faces looking out, noses pressed flat against the glass.  The afternoon sun heats up these tin houses on wheels quite fast and without an A/C it will get damn hot inside in no time flat.  There is no doubt that the comfort level of that camper was less than enjoyable.

At the stop sign, just outside, and in front of the camper stood mom, pop and their little furry pooch, asking for help.  I'm all for helping others in need and they would have been aided by either Jackie or I with enough gas to get them down the road a couple of hundred miles closer to their destination....but....puffs of smoke and cigarettes dangling from their lips cinched tight our purse strings.  At that point I wanted to go over and give aid in the form of lessons in  how people perceive others.  I would have said, "When asking for help, you'll have to forgo a nicotine fix in front of those you are asking help from.  The folks will think your addiction is more important than food for your children and pass you by, no matter the truth. Your benefactors want to know you'll be buying bread for your children and not a bag of Bugler."  But, I didn't give aid either with money or lesson, I just passed them by. 

Their indigent situation may be the result of never having learned how to see or read other's actions toward them.  Social Graces learned early-on by breeding or social mix goes a long way toward how others perceive you. It ain't always fair but that is just the way it is. 

Great Horned Owl

Yesterday’s silt pond level was 640.6' down from it’s highest of 646' not bad, this must be the money maker for the region. Up north, at Lake/Reservoir Mead, the water level was down over a hundred foot.

Cottonwood cove here on the north end of Mojave Lake, east of Searchlight, NV is eerily quite. Campsites abound but less than a half dozen, out of a hundred or so, are utilized at present. Three varieties of non-native eucalyptus trees and a few cottonwoods give shade and scent the air with a pleasing aroma.

Duane the volunteer and camp host is a sort of Hemmingway looking character without beard. He’s one of the bright dudes one meets from time to time. Retired from the post office, 800wpm reader and enjoys letting everyone know he’s a wiz-bang at remembering facts, of which he poured at us like he was reading directly form an Encyclopedia.

The Great Horned Owl remained in the same tree throughout our three day stay and each night would fly to another tree outside our rig to hoot his beckoning call to the female. But alas, the mating time had passed and she was off nest building to hatch the eggs she’d soon be laying.

I keep wanting to find a hummingbird other than Anna's Hummingbird but as yet, no luck.  I thought for sure this was a Black Necked but the folks at whatbird.com assured me it was a Hanna's, even if it looked like a Black Necked.

Came back to AVI a few days ago. It's hard to stay away from this friendly pad, especially when our Native American hosts refuse to let me do other than win at the craps table. It's like we're getting paid to be their guests. Why they even throw in an interweb connection and 99 cent ham, eggs, taters and toast. And....for an afternoon snack it’s 99 cent shrimp or hotdog and a beer.

COUNT YOUR BLESSINGS

After only 29,000 miles the front end was shot on the rig.  Don't even consider a Ford F-450 chassis.  It took the better part of a day to have it repaired in Lake Havasu, NV.  "OUCH"

Boondocking a little north of Topock, AZ in the Mojave Valley.  This place is an old dream someone had for a subdivision.  80 acres, all terraced but then something went wrong and who knows who owns it now.  We've plunked down here a couple of times and no one has bothered us.

                                                                     Desert Marigold

                                                                      Desert Phlox

These two wild flowers were growing in what I would call completely dry gravel and sand.       How they manage to propagate, grow and flower is a mystery to me.

                                                                      Topock sunset

                                                                  Ringed Billed Gull

                                                                 Great Blue Heron


                                             
We’ve been sitting on the Fort Mojave Indian Reservation for the better part of a week. Bullhead City Nevada is a couple of miles to the north, California four miles to the west and Arizona three miles to the east…right in the southern most crotch of  Nevada.  After the Government beat this tribe into submission, they scratched out the boundaries of what they figured was the most worthless piece of sand in the area and told the chiefs to stay put.  Little did the U.S. know at the time that this area, with the Colorado River running through it would become more valuable than their little white eyes could ever imagine. 

The casino here has a large, hard earth parking lot and allows free dry camping (no hookups) that suits our solar panels just fine. 

I met a fellow from British Columbia that’s been hanging around here for the last month, he’s not what anyone would call stout but balloons his wanna-be chest after a few gorilla brews.   Not a bad sort really, just another alcohol Atlas…like the rest of us.  He’s a cancer survivor with a half dozen wives in his wake that cling to his shadow like a ghost.  In the winters he comes south following the warmth and prospects for gold in the summers.  He says, “One of these years I’m going to pan enough of that Canadian gold out of that Fraser River to break even,”  and then laughs with all the merriment of the simple minded, opens another beer, and passes out two dollar Canadian coins (The Dooly he calls them) to all willing to listen to his stories…of which he has plenty.

I went into the casino twice, both times with my snoot full of beer, figuring I was the worlds best craps player and both times gave them back winnings from last year.  Our little bank roll of last winters "hard earned" profits  is dwindling.

 This poor fellow makes a person feel better about their own situation.  The tires on his van and trailer are near bald, the AC on top of his trailer was without shroud (who knows if it even worked), his generator needed several yanks to get it going and then had a sickly sputtering cough when it finally came to life.  Sadly, his wife was wheel chair bound.  Count your blessings.