A Rocky Week

Last Sunday I had a restless night filled with strange dreams. I woke up before the sun as usual but didn’t want to get out of bed. It was still dark out and it didn’t take long for me to realize it was because the sky was filled with dark clouds.  I shook the cobwebs off and snuggled up with Cosmo who rolled onto his back so I could rub his belly. I obliged. As I was recalling the dreams, I realized that I’d been in the same place for 4 days and today was “moving day.”  I am always a little anxious on days when I’m moving to a new spot. I’m never sure how long the drive will be, and even though I vet my new spot (and usually a back up spot or even two), I am never sure if I can trust the reviews I’ve read online of the places I’m heading towards. Sometimes the reviews are old and the “great spot” has closed down due to Covid. Other times, the reviews are great and when I get there, the spots are not so great. Still other times the spots are great and just as described, and way too many people must’ve seen the reviews and beat me to getting there. 

I’d been out in the boonies and was heading further into the boonies, so I decided before I went I should get groceries, gas and propane so that I’d be fully stocked up when I arrived.  I had planned to drive into town (half an hour in the wrong direction) so that I’d get everything done at once, and would be set for the next week or 10 days.  I was up and caffeinated by 7:00 and when I took Cosmo out for his walk I noticed my rear tire looked odd.  It was flat. Would I need to be towed? Could I change the flat on my own? I think I have the tools, but never tested that theory. Was my spare tire even any good?  I got 4 new tires last 0ctober, but didn’t check the spare at that time.  I dug in my “garage” (the space under my rear seat, accessible through the back door) and found a tire inflater.  I got it out, opened a rear window and plugged into a DC (cigarette lighter) jack in the back.  The tire had 12 psi pressure.  It was supposed to be 80. Ouch.  I turned the inflater on and started packing up to move. I googled tire shops and found one 15 minutes away. After about 10 minutes the inflater cut off. It had 30 psi but felt solid. I guess that’s all the inflater could manage. I decided it was drivable and immediately left BLM land for Boulder City, NV. I stopped at a pull out on the way just to double check. I’d made the mistake once before of driving on a deflated tire and ruined it completely, so I was cautious. I guess the heat of driving expanded the pressure some because it now read 34 psi. I was pretty sure I could make it the rest of the way.  I got to the tire shop and the young man said he’d be with me in 10 minutes. A few minutes later a car backed out and he waved for me to come in. He had the tire off and inflated in about a minute and dunked it in a water bath to find the leak. We both saw the air bubbles at the same time. The culprit was a Cholla thorn. I think I mentioned them before. They are about the size of a baked bean but have long spikes, the size of a finishing nail. They look like a sea urchin. The spikes are nasty. They gave me and Cosmo fits in the desert. When he stepped on one, I’d try to grab it and a spine would immediately imbed in my thumb, and when I tried to pull it out, a spike stayed in Cosmo’s pad and the rest came with the “bean” and stuck to my fingers. I’ve stepped on several before, and they went right through my sandal like a metal spike. They are tough buggers. So if they can go through the sole of a shoe, it’s not surprising they can puncture a tire. The mechanic said since it was in the sidewall, he could not fix it, but about 20 miles away, there was a shop that did plugs on the sidewall. He said the downside is that it may or may not last long due to expansion and contraction from the heat and cold. He said he could order a matching tire, but it wouldn’t be there until late in the afternoon or maybe tomorrow. He did have a similar tire in stock and I opted for that solution. It bummed me out a little, because the tires were brand new in October. But it was the easiest and fastest solution, so I did it. The tire was changed and I was on my way in less than a half an hour. I went to the grocery store (Smith’s Market?) which was huge and had lots of options. I found everything on my list (and some extras too) and then headed to get propane. I got that topped off, got gas and before noon, I was back on track.  I made it to my new campsite before 1:00.

While looking at my tires, I thought the front passenger side tire looked a bit wonky. It seemed to be leaning in at the top (or leaning out at the bottom). While I was at the tire place, I asked the guy to look at it. He said he couldn’t see anything wrong underneath, but said it looked cambered to him. So when I set up camp, I looked up “cambered” and saw that it has to do with alignment. It can also be ball joints or control arm bushings.  Well, I had new ball joints put on just a year and a half ago when I bought the van. I had an alignment last summer in Madison, WI and when I picked it up, they said “You may want to get the bushings checked at a later date.”  I said “You’ve had the van for 2 days. Why didn’t YOU check them?”  It was the owner and his answer was “I’m not sure. They probably didn’t want to fool with them.”  Anyway, I’m heading into a town in a few days and I’ll get the alignment checked by a QUALIFIED mechanic, and hope it is something simple.

 

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It rained last night. It started as I was getting ready for bed. All my windows were open and the wind kicked up. There was that smell, like the first few drops of rain on concrete, like freshness coming to the dry dirt.  I closed my windows on the side the wind was coming from, but left the rest opened a couple inches. It felt good. I was still at Lake Mead and after a day of tire repairs, grocery shopping, propane and gas filling, I was tired. I fell asleep easily but was awakened  a couple of times throughout the night by the sound of coyotes howling. Actually I don’t think they howl as much as they scream. Wolves howl; coyotes sound like babies crying. Maybe they were baby coyotes. I got up just before the sun and the sky was ominous. Lots of dark clouds left over from the night’s rainfall. More campers were nearby than when I went to bed last night.

I took another look at my front wheel. It is cambered (that’s a mechanical term I learned from YouTube. My front, passenger side tire has a negative camber, meaning it is tilted in at the top, out at the bottom. It worried me. Of course, I come from a long line of worriers. My parents taught me how to worry, and my siblings share the same trait. If there’s nothing to worry about, we can invent something.  Throughout the years, I’ve gotten better at learning NOT to worry. It’s such wasted energy. There will be plenty of time for fear and panic once something actually happens.  My sister and I have a saying – “Don’t bleed until you’re shot.” We remind each other often. Still, sometimes genetics or early childhood learning takes over and I can’t help myself. This morning was just one of those times. My mother’s “What if…” took over.  What if I’m driving on one of these mountain roads and my wheel flies off?  What if I get to the mechanic and they say it will take 2 weeks to get the part? What if I break down on BLM land and have to try to get someone to tow me out of the middle of the desert that is only accessible by a long, wash-boarded road? I could let it keep escalating until it got to “What if the Russians drop a nuclear bomb on us and I don’t have a desk to hide under while I say Hail Mary’s?” (That was an early childhood worry. I spent countless nights under the covers saying Hail Mary’s as a prophylactic measure.  I just knew the Russians were plotting against me and the rest of the Christian world). 

One of my favorite films is A Home at the End of the World. In the first few minutes, a young boy (about 9?) hears his older brother in the next room, and what sounds like moans of agony.  He gets up to check it out, opens his brother’s bedroom door and sees him having sex. His eyes grow wide as saucers. The girl sees the younger brother and freaks out. She hurriedly dresses and sneaks out the bedroom window. The older brother pats the bed next to him, inviting the younger brother in. He puts his arm around him and asks “Are you freaked out?” The younger brother shakes his head “no” but in a couple seconds admits “Maybe a little.”  The older brother says “There’s nothing to be scared of. It’s just love.”  It’s a great scene.  I’ve modified that a little and when I start to freak out about stuff, especially on the road, I say to myself.  “Nothing to be scared of. It’s just life.”  It makes me realize that I’m not freaked out about a flat tire, or a wheel alignment, or even being broken down in the desert. I’m freaked out because I have plans and there are a million things that could alter those plans without my consent.  But it’s just life. And if I let my plans be tentative, then staying a couple days unexpectedly in a town I didn’t choose is just a bonus really. 

So, I drove to my next destination and went down more rough roads, gripping the steering wheel tightly in case my front wheel did fall off.  It didn’t. I stopped in a canyon of red rocks.

The formations were incredible, and I stopped and enjoyed a break from the driving and worrying. It did me good.

I lost my GPS signal on my cell phone. I turned off onto Echo Lake Road, and drove about 4 miles. There was a campground there, but not BLM land. It looked crowded and not very organic.  I pulled out my cell phone and luckily, picked up a signal again. I looked up the BLM land and found I had 4 more miles to go.  The road, as are most roads on BLM land was rutted and filled with potholes.  The speed limit sign said 15 mph. I don’t think I could have reached that limit if I tried. I parked near Echo Lake on BLM land and settled in for the night. 

I stayed up on the ridge, not willing to push my luck with the faulty wheel. I’m not sure I could have made it down to the shore even with all my wheels functioning perfectly. But the view from up top was amazing. There were lots of clouds and the light on the lake and on the mountains was a photographer’s dream. Cosmo and I went for many walks and I drank coffee, and ate a cookie, and I decided to call ahead and make an appointment with a mechanic in the next town I will pass through. It was a good thing I called. He works by appointment only and was fairly busy. I am scheduled for 2:00 p.m. on Thursday.

I drove to my next destination, heading toward St. George, UT. The public land had good reviews, and it was very close to where I needed to drop off my car the next day.  I got there and it was OK. Like many public lands in AZ, it was fairly trashy. There were broken bottles everywhere, and lots of garbage. Along the perimeter, there were even a couple of way-overused mattresses. I got settled in and decided I wasn’t there to sight see, and I’d be safe enough for one night.  As I read looked out the window, I started to realize that the other people weren’t campers, but rather squatters.  One guy had a small class A rig he was living in, and 3 cars.  No camper has 3 cars.  He had the hood up and was working on one of them. The guy next to me had a truck and a huge trash can (ostensibly stolen from someone who put their trash out for collection and he snagged it before they could take the can back in).  There was a pile of something covered in a tarp. He never came out, then at 8:30 at night, a truck pulled in and I realized he had not been there—he was just getting home. Again, campers don’t pull a rig with two pickup trucks.

He went inside and came out and dug out a generator from the bed of one of his pickup trucks. With a flashlight he worked on it for about an hour until he finally got it fired up. And then, much to my chagrin, he ran it most of the night. On the other side of me was a pull-behind trailer, propped up in the front with legs and blocks under the tires to keep it from rolling. No vehicle. Nobody went in or out in the 20 hours I was there.  Sort of a creepy place.

I got up and made coffee. I had anxiety. I was worried about my impaired vehicle/home. Would the front wheel make it over the mountains to the repair place? Should I call a tow truck? Knowing nothing about automotive stuff, I couldn’t tell if I was over-reacting or under-reacting to the cambered wheel.  I decided to drive. I stopped halfway at a Pilot Truck Stop and decided to pay for a long hot shower. It did me a world of good, and then I drove the mountain pass and showed up at Mitchell’s Alignment Center, looking (and smelling) like a decent human being.

The two brothers could not have been any nicer. I went in and told them who I was and that I had an appointment for 2:00, but since I was on the road, I arrived early. I told them I was happy to wait, but I was here if they wanted to get me in earlier. They took me about 20 minutes later, looked it over and I could tell by the way he approached me and Cosmo in the waiting room he wasn’t going to give me good news.  The rocker arm and ball joint were fucked up. (My interpretation, not his words.)  He brought me over to look at it and I got down in the space below the van and he showed me how the arm was coming detached from the, well, something…whatever the thing is that it was supposed to be connected to. He had it jacked up a bit and showed me how easily the tire moved and I could see the ball was just about to come out of where it was supposed to be firmly attached.  I said “Can you fix it?”  He said “Yes, but we’ll have to order the part.  Unfortunately, my brother is off tomorrow, and I have a full schedule, so we won’t be able to get to it until Monday morning. How long are you going to be in St. George?”  I said “Until you get my vehicle fixed and safe for me to move on.”  He went and had a conversation with his brother. He came back and said he tried to convince his brother to come in the next day and fix this, but he had promised his son that he would go to his baseball game in Salt Lake City. He said sometimes the parts didn’t come until mid or late afternoon, so even if the brother came in, there would be no guarantee they could get to it.  I told him I was fine to wait until Monday. I asked if I could drive it and he said “I sure wouldn’t go far.” It should be OK to do limited driving around town. I asked if I could stay in their parking lot and he said that they locked up the gate at night and he was not comfortable locking me inside. He said there was land just 3 miles down the road where “everyone camped.” He said “You can stay there for weeks and no one will bother you.”  I drove there, and he was right. It is Arizona Land Trust land. Big rolling hills, with RV’s parked every thousand feet or so.  I picked a spot and settled in.

I had plenty of food, close to a full tank of water, and the sun was blazing so I wasn’t going to run out of electricity. As I made a sandwich, I realized I was actually relieved. I needed to stop and get a safety check soon anyway and the brothers assured me that everything else looked good and once I got this issue resolved, I’d be good to go. I “broke down” in a beautiful spot, and was still able to live in my van while I awaited the arrival of the part. The mechanics have a 5-star rating—every customer just raved about their service and integrity, and from the brief time I spent there, I agree. I was pushing to get to Zion National Park, Bryce Canyon, and onto Moab by the third week in April to meet my friends Ben and Lauren. I was feeling the pressure of a deadline. I promised when I left Delaware that there would be no deadlines. I feel as if this was sort of a reminder to stop and smell the roses. I also feel a responsibility has been lifted. I have no choice but to stay put for 4 days. Plenty of time to read, watch videos, take a hike up the hill and see what’s on the other side.  AND…

I have been thinking for weeks about getting a real camera again. I bought a camera before I started this adventure, but it is a point and shoot. It was a compromise between what I wanted and what I felt I could spend. I use it rarely. It doesn’t do what I want, or probably more accurate, I can’t MAKE it do what I want. I was a professional photographer in Los Angeles for 15 years. I was a GOOD photographer, with some pretty prestigious accounts like The Queen Mary, Proctor and Gamble, Long Beach Chamber of Commerce and the United States Navy. That was all back in the days of film. When I gave up photography and started my soap business, digital photography came in and film went out. I never made the transition successfully. Several times in the past month or so, I’ve been to beautiful places, and my brain switched back to seeing things the way I used to see them when I was a photographer. If I still had my professional film cameras, I could take the photo I saw in my head. But every time I settled for the photo I could take with my iPhone. I decided this week that wasn’t good enough for me. I wanted a respectable digital camera. So I started researching and came up with two that I thought would be very similar to the film cameras I previously used on a daily basis. I called my friend who I met in South Dakota last summer who is a photographer for Nike. (His name is also Ben, like my other friend from Quartzsite I met last fall, and who I’m heading to Moab to see again). He asked me what I wanted in a camera, and after a discussion of what I missed about my old cameras and my price point, he suggested I buy the camera that I had researched and said he thought it would suit my needs.  So that gave me reassurance that I could get a high end, near professional level camera and stay within my budget. I figured I’d have to put it off until I get to a big city. They had what I wanted on Amazon, and a bit cheaper than I’d researched. But I don’t have an address. And I wasn’t going to be visiting anyone with an address anytime in the near future. I checked for camera stores nearby.  Nothing within 5 hours. And then a smile spread across my face. I was “stuck” there in St. George for 4 days. Maybe I could send my Amazon package to the mechanic. I called and asked and Eric (one of the brothers) said it would be fine. I checked on Amazon and it could be there by Monday. I pressed the “buy now” button.

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My first night at my new home was uneventful. I told a friend the next morning that being “broken down” and having to stay 4 days in one place to wait for a part feels like a “snow day.”  I’ve stayed at many places for much longer than 4 days, but it has a totally different feel when I knew I could not leave for 4 days while waiting for repairs. A “snow day” to me always felt like a free day, to do whatever I wanted, without feeling responsibility or guilt. All plans are cancelled. “To Do Lists” are null and void. “I should go get groceries.  Ooops!  SNOW DAY. Have to stay in and watch reruns of I Love Lucy.” I had a similar feel my first night there on the “Arizona Strip.” I really shouldn’t drive, so staying in the van and watching YouTube felt like a good plan. Cosmo and I took more than a few walks, and I found several much nicer campsites just a few yards up the road. We spent the first night a little too close to the road coming in and could hear traffic coming and going. Every RV that turned into the land we were staying on shined their high beams right through the bedroom window. So as we walked, I scouted.  I found the perfect spot, already occupied by another van. The second best spot was also occupied, but by the time we were on our way back, that van had left. I got to my van and decided to move to the better spot. When I pulled into it and was searching for level ground, the guy from the best spot came over. He said “Hey, we’re leaving in a couple minutes, and we have the best spot here. If you want it, pull in behind me and you can take our place when I pull out.  I did just that. I got out and we talked for a while. His name is Scott, and he’s close to my age, grey hair, from the east.  How could we NOT get along?  He finally said he had to get going and he pulled out and I pulled in. It’s just off the road enough to be a bit more private and a lot quieter. Much less road noise.

I cooked myself some super greens over brown rice and had brunch. And then I watched some “how to” videos about using the new camera I ordered before curling up on the sofa with my boy and taking a nap.  Perfect “snow day.”

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I woke up the next morning and my heater had come on. I had inadvertently left the driver’s side and passenger’s side windows halfway down. It got down below 50 during the night.  I pulled the sleeping bag around me. Cosmo had detected the chill and was already pressed up against me for warmth. I covered us both with the sleeping bag and he licked my face. I lay there for a minute before I knew I would not fall back asleep. I got up, started the coffee and pulled on my sweats. When I opened the door to take Cosmo out to pee, I had this bizarre flashback. Remember the scene in The Wizard of Oz when Dorothy opens her front door after landing in Oz? Everything turns to technicolor and the birds are chirping and she steps outside.  As I stepped out of the van, everything seemed bathed in bright orange technicolor light from the not-yet-risen sun. The air was still cool, but there was a promise of warm sunshine. The day washed over me like some cosmic blessing. I couldn’t help but feel gratitude, for being in such a beautiful spot. We walked down my little “driveway” to the dirt road that led through the Land Trust. I let Cosmo lead the way. I didn’t want to be burdened with decisions this early in the day (or maybe ever again), so I just followed, and enjoyed the scenery as the sun started to peak up over the mountain. I could already feel the warmth as the world started coming alive, and I could see a few cars passing by on the main road. I’m not sure where that joy came from. I don’t care. I was as happy as I could ever remember being. I felt safe. I felt I had everything I needed and it reminded me of that feeling I had in Peru when I “drank the juice” from the Huachuma cactus. I felt deeply connected to Pacha Mama. And once again, I actually said out loud “I Live Here!”

 Lessons from the Road: My van is broken down in the middle of nowhere. Nowhere UTAH, no less. I should be in panic mode, right? Nope. I’m in bliss. I don’t remember ever feeling so safe, so content, so happy. I’m in a beautiful spot, both literally and figuratively.

I keep coming back to my appropriated saying: Hey. There’s nothing to worry about. It’s just life!