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.