HAPPY NEW YEAR

Staying ahead of the snow, I raced from Madison, WI., in record time, stopping only for gas and sleep. One night stays in Walmart parking lots, state parks and various city parks. My buddy loaned me a CD, " HARP ATTACK."  James Cotton-Junior Wells-Carey Bell-Billy Branch.  Played that CD the whole way.  Driving music if your into blues harp.

                                           Or go to: 
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fiMCEeF-Hec&list=UUg-VwIx4ny0iA7c5ATJ4mqg

November the 10th, Earp, CA, morning coffee "On the hill." Warm sunshine.

Just over the Colorado River, from my spot on the hill, is Big River, AZ. where I opened a PO BOX. This is Charlene, post mistress of the one person post office...You are looking at the *whole* post office. Window hours, 11AM-3PM 6 days a week.

After a month on the hill I got a little restless and took a short trip up north of Lake Havasu, AZ. and squatted down on BLM land, Scraggy Wash, and walked the hills for a few days.

This picture was taken while sitting on the RV steps the second day at Scraggy Wash. Sheep or goats, never did figure out which.

Back in Earp, just a few days ago, while out walking, I had just come up to the top of a steep banked wash and three burros were staring at me. I froze so as not to scare them off.  No worry, after a few minutes I began walking toward them and they just ambled on their way with not the least concern of my presence. This picture was taken with my phone, so as you see, they were fairly close.

Most days end with  gorgeous to spectacular sunsets. A little splash of Jim Beam coupled with the sky fire is a perfect way to end the day.

The world is on a collision course with the things that keep us alive and healthy - the air, water, soil and variety of life. Corporations, especially those with head offices in some other part of the country or the world care little for the interests of local ecosystems or communities, except in so far as they interfere with the drive to maximize profit for shareholders. They have no obligation to protect local ecosystems or local communities. Their sole goal is to make as much money as they can get away with.   David Suzuki’s grandson, Tamo Campos.

CIRCLES OF FIRE

      Return to my winter desert home in Earp, CA

Western Desert or Arizona  Tarantula is not particularly venomous but you won't see me petting this guy.

 Jack, a painter, an artist who embraces giving back to the system, loathes fakes, government subconscious control and TV.  Touching finger to forehead, he says, "Remove ego and the ability of distorting art with flamboyant verbal foolery and you just might find an artist."

Fire rings, recent and ancient, telling tales of today's wheeled campers and yesterday's indigenous nomads.  One particular circle of rocks, undisturbed, ashes within long dissolved by weather calls me, "Sit and listen."  Snapping a few branches from the creosote bush that is now home within the ring I touch a match to dry tinder . Who last warmed or cooked here? How long ago? A hundred years, a thousand, more? This is indigenous country, CRIT, Colorado River Indian Tribes. My mind wanders,  imagination flames.

SO MANY CURVE BALLS AND ONLY ONE TIME AT BAT

I stopped to see my old and very dear friend that now lives in a satellite burb of Madison, WI.  One of those curve balls was served up to JT and she accepted without missing a step. Through rehab she taught herself to talk and balance, and unimaginable to me, re-learned everything from dominate right hand to left in order to once again be self sufficient.

  Losing an arm and a leg ain't for the timid.

"It's all inside, I just had to learn a new way to let it out," She giggled, a giggle that makes everyone smile.  The giggle that the thief Stroke never found.

Being close to the ground in a wheelchair one sees what others miss. Another of JT's eclectic loves, collecting and arranging metal of weathered patina.

A stroke can be an ugly thief or a new path. We see what JT chose. Sympathy simply was not in the cards. Self pity will destroy all that is good.

"SUMMER'S GONE AND ALL THE FLOWERS ARE DYING."

                                    


Time to paint the days with southern sunshine.

Pulled the home-fires plug a couple of days ago, buttoned up the old shack for it's winter hibernation and ran away from home to once again visit the Blue Roads in warmer climes.

I'm not sure my one vote is going to make a difference, but....maybe, just maybe~~

Down the road 50 miles to my medical care facility, The Oscar G. Johnson VA Medical Center, Iron Mountain, MI. I'll have regular testing for  glaucoma, the easy-to-control kind, "open angled" and pick up little pills for the next six months that make my blood slippery and drops to keep my eyes healthy. Kudos to the VA, at least here in my neck of the woods. I feel fortunate to be a part of the Veterans Administration Health Care System.

Sleepover at the Oscar G Johnson VA Medical Center.


So my buddy, Camo Man, calls me and says, "Beale Street."    I think, "I bet it's warmer there than it is here," but first a JT rendezvous in Madison, WI..... and then see how long I can ride the Great River Road toward the Delta...As far as Memphis, I hope. 

Dusting of snow this morning in Nekoosa, WI  Good to be plugged-in at the HO-CHUNK Casino. At 28 degrees F, the electric heater runs continually.

TOO MUCH OF A GOOD THING and cycles of life

              Red Maple DOB 1942 DOD 2014

An over abundance of shade and it's massive root system was the undoing for this old girl. Cooling the house from the afternoon sun encouraged moss on the roof shingles while it's roots clogged the septic and began to crack the basement wall. Her beauty will be sorely missed.

In remembrance the leaves will be mulched making the garden fertile and her wood burned for warmth. Ashes will be spaded sparingly and shallow making the vegetables sweet and juicy.


You will live on through your food, warmth and all that you have taught me.  Thank you.

                                                    

CYCLES OF LIFE ~ Home is where your heart is

We've been vagabonding in our Wheelhouse home (RV) since November, now it's time to go to our brick and mortar homes in the Upper Peninsula of MI.  We'll tend to our gardens, slap summer mosquitoes and do house repairs until next November when we'll begin our next journey.

Spring courting for the RED SHAFTED FLICKER in Fruita, Colorado.

Hundreds of miles of corn fields and silos across the flat South Dakota prairies.

Something a tad ambiguous about Wyoming's approach to welcoming visitor centers.

                                                                  CYCLES OF LIFE

AIN'T YOUR MAMA'S MOAB

Edward Abbey circa 1965 foretold, in his sagacious bluntness, of the devastation about to unfold for this use-to-be quaint and strikingly magnificent, picturesque little town. If I remember the quote correctly, he said, “ We are f’ing ourselves to death. Well Ed you nailed it, your beloved town of Moab, UT has become just another elbow to asshole, curio peddling,  bicycle grinding, Jeep smoking, 4 Wheeling whining, RV dumping ground. It’s nothing more than hordes of people watching other people be “cool.” The Disneyland of Utah.  

From this RV park, sitting on the Colorado River, I’ve been able to squint between new construction above the highway and existing lodging, to offer a couple of  pictures. Yes, I’m part of the problem, will I be again, NO!  This is a horrid, yet an enlightening moment. Affluence and overpopulation, in my leftist myopic view, is the scourge that has ruined so much of America’s natural beauty and uniqueness.

Can't get out of here fast enough. Maybe it's just my desire to be far from the throng, any crowd and void of the pack. Could it be I don't like getting old and am jealous of the young that enjoy this place so much? The only fun thing for me was opening the RV's door at 10 O'clock last night, blowing a slow, sad-sweet blues riff and hearing someone yell, "Right on man"...He must have been drunk...I was.

      Beauty is indeed in the eye of the beholder.

VALLEY OF THE GODS

We left "The Valley of the Gods," Mexican Hat, Utah yesterday morning by taking the road less traveled, A 17 mile twisty switchback not much better than a gravel two-track and got stuck/hung-up in a dry wash 5 miles in.  No phone service to call for help so the only option was to walk-out or pop-a-top and wait.  Just as Jackie and I were flipping the coin to see who was going to take the hike for help, two angels appeared in a Safari Jeep, complete with a snatch strap.  We tried to tug the rig forward. No go.  The Jeep dug 4 tire holes and the rig's wheels spun but didn't budge an inch.  Around to the rear and re-attached the strap. The Jeep snorted, dug another four holes and damn if the big cracker box didn't come loose and slide out.  I filled in the low spots with rocks, dropped the tranny in low, aimed a new course and hit the gas. I heard a lot of dragging and complaining from the big box but we were through that swale and only had to drag through another dozen , in as many miles, to get back out to the highway. Yes, I would have turned around if at all possible.

So life is good this morning, we're high and dry in Cortez, Colorado in a neat little RV park still giving thanks to the angels that arrived at our darkest moment.  Paying it forward, ya you betcha.


Sandstone rock formations sculpted by wind and rain over many millenniums.

 

Utah, Valley of the Gods, screams silence. Except for an occasional high altitude jet leaving  a soundless white contrail in an ocean of blue, you’ll hear only the buzzing of your own ears.

A sacredly mysterious country without porta-potties, plastic signs or finger pointing rangers. The looping 17 mile dirt road  is not for the timid and surely not for the neon-night reveler.

We hung out here four days and soaked up the silence. Our solar was undisturbed by clouds and our personal batteries were charged with humility.

Exactly why the BLM has left this place untouched, undeveloped is not understood but refreshingly welcomed.



                             Angles riding in a Jeep come to the rescue.

                          A winter's worth of wear, now back to lace-ups and long johns.

GRAND CANYON CAVERNS ARIZONA

Grand Canyon Caverns has nothing to do with the world famous Grand Canyon other than it's proximity, 180 miles by road .

 Leaving Kingman, AZ on  Old Route 66 we drive 60 miles and rise 2000 foot through the Hualapi Indian Reservation towns of Walapi, Valentine and Peach Springs  to arrive at our home for the evening, "The Grand Canyon Caverns."   The whole place has seen better days but it’s clear someone is putting sweat and a few bucks into keeping this roadside attraction and camp grounds alive. The best part of this place is that it ain’t slick, it is though, homey with all the quirky things you’d expect from something out of the 40’s and 50’s.

View from the highway.  Actual park is set back into a Juniper thicket about a mile. The actual camp setting is excellent.

They had to fence this big guy in, he kept wanting to roam.

                     Scary stuff.

GOING HOME 2014

Well it's that time again, we're homeward bound after months of attending to our favorite activities (reading, biking and hiking) "on the hill" here in Earp, CA.

A few closing pictures and then on the road again, via the northern route through Utah/Colorado, back to Yooperland, The Upper Peninsula of Michigan.

                Storm off to the north.

                                        Sunset.

                Long shadow sunset looking west.

                    Sunrise.

VIRGA.   The storm that produced 10 drops.  In meteorology, virga is an observable streak or shaft of precipitation that falls from a cloud but evaporates or sublimes before reaching the ground."

Saying goodbye to our new friends, Jim and MaryAnn.

ALONG THE COLORADO RIVER ~ YUMA, AZ TO LAKE MOJAVE, NV

Here's a scramble of pictures from the last couple of weeks, too fun to toss but not enough for a single theme.

Last flower on our traveling Christmas Cactus.

Veteran Mike lives in his pickup truck. He's not happy with the way things turned out but not angry either.  A good guy waiting for a break. Lake Mojave.

Dying trees along the shores of Lake Havasu State Park.  Less and less water in the Colorado River that sustains them.

A makeover of increased spaces and water to all RV sites at the Havasu park has campers jammed in heel to toe. Between the constant high powered river boat noise, off-road racers, ultra-light motorized kites and highway noise, this is no longer a pleasant camping experience.

Young lady in Mexico selling jewelry. She was no more than four foot tall and loved her suckers. Los Algodones.

New field of spinach.  Yuma  

Mexican "day workers" on lunch break. Yuma

Picking vegetables for your salad. Yuma

Field picked, ready for shipment.  Yuma

Princess Mountain Lake Mojave. Look close, center of highpoint is her nose with chin sloping off to the left.

Breakfast call for these Ring-Billed Seagulls   Lake Mojave

About an inch and a half long. Tarantula Hawk Wasp.  Careful, this is considered one of most painful stings in North America

Our desert gang gathered around the campfire after supper in Earp, CA