I decided I needed a few more days near Bluff, UT, with a canyon full of hoodoos in my back yard. After exploring some, I relaxed a bit. The first night, I felt so removed from civilization and human beings. The rock formations are other-worldly and with the wind blowing at gale force for a couple days, it felt very prehistoric (or maybe post-apocalyptic). It was easy to imagine that Cosmo and I were the only life left on this barren world. It was alternately exhilarating and frightening. As I explored the canyon the next day, I saw a truck pulling a trailer with an off-road vehicle. It passed me and I realized the road I came in on, made a U-turn about half a mile past my campsite and curved back in the opposite direction on the other side of the canyon. The truck stopped and the occupant drove off in the dune-buggy. Later in the day, a new Sprinter van with 4WD came in, took the same U-Turn and headed up over the hill and disappeared in the distance. I guess they found a camp spot even more remote than mine. Last night when I went to bed, as my eyes adjusted to the total darkness and the stars started to appear, so did a light in the distance. A campfire? I couldn’t tell. It was a yellowish light, and it seemed to flicker and disappear and reappear. I saw two other dim lights even more remote. In the daytime, there is nothing visible in the direction where the lights were, so I have no clue what the lights were or where they came from. I’ve also heard what sounds like drums at night. It is intermittent and has a very primitive, tribal feel to it, similar to a tom-tom. It’s deep in tone, and without a pattern. At first, I thought it was hammering or maybe some sort of machinery, but that doesn’t feel quite right. I wondered it if could be gunfire, but it went on for too long with no break, and why would someone wait until after dark for target practice? In my imagination, I envision it to be some ancient Navajo Chief, playing ceremoniously on his handcrafted drum, though if that were true, I think after all these years he would be able to keep a better beat.
I tried to take my drone up in the morning before it got too windy again. The canyon is so amazing and photos I take just don’t do it justice. I thought perhaps “the big picture” from above would give some sense of the vast expanse that is my home this week, but my drone could not pick up a GPS signal, which it uses to stabilize and hover in place. Without it, it has no sense of where it is, and it will randomly drift in any direction, or start to go up or down wildly. It seemed a good analogy for how I feel some days out here in the middle of nowhere.
I spent the afternoon plotting my course from here. Or at least I tried. With drastic altitude changes and global warming, weather has become a key factor in planning. I use my free camping apps to find a spot on the way to where I want to go (Moab) and then read the reviews of that spot. Most of the ones near here are difficult to get to due to bad roads. Some are free campsites but are still closed until May 1. When I find an open one, that is not too difficult to drive into, I then look at the weather…snow predicted for the day I was to arrive. Back to square one. I couldn’t find any free spots between here and Moab that meet my criteria, so I started searching for paid campgrounds. They are either very expensive, already booked solid (due to being close to Arches National Park) or both. My head starts to hurt from furrowing my brow too much. And then I have an epiphany: Why am I so set on driving to Moab? I originally planned to go there to meet a fellow traveler that I’d met on the road. He changed his mind and went earlier than planned. His reports said the area was crowded and he didn’t have much positive to say about his experience. And yet, I continue to head in that direction? I think my main motivation was to see Arches National Monument. That’s not likely to happen. Camping within the park is booked up more than a year in advance, and now you must make a reservation to arrive at a specific time and wait in line to even get INTO the park. No dogs are allowed on any of the paths, and I would need to go onto a path to get to the places where the natural arches are. To get to the best spots to take pictures at sunrise, you must book a shuttle, and arrive an hour before sunrise, and go with the masses to fight for a spot to take a photo of the arches at sunrise. Nothing about this seems appealing or even workable. National parks are pretty much not a viable option for me. No camping. No dogs. Hordes of tourists who I find annoying for the most part. The place I’m in is absolutely beautiful and amazing in so many ways. No, it’s not the GRAND canyon, but it is A canyon. And it is one that I can find my way down into, bring Cosmo with me, and explore without a single other human in my way. I know there are other natural arches, off the beaten path, away from tourists where I don’t have to have an assigned time to arrive and wait in a long line of cars.
I really want to spend much of my summer in Northern California and maybe on up into Oregon. So why was I planning to drive east when California is to my west? And why was I fighting tooth and nail to head to a place that seemed to throw up roadblocks (literally) nearly every step of the way? I decided to turn around and head west. The easiest route would take me back past several friend’s houses. I could visit one more time, as I headed for the coast. It made so much more sense. When I get as far north as I want to be in the summer, I can start to head east, with my goal to spend next winter in southern Arizona again. I can easily come down through that section of Utah if I still want to, or cross over into Colorado and New Mexico and see some other parts of the country that I’ve not yet seen while on my way to the Mexican border.
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The next couple days were spent just relaxing and experiencing the canyon and all the rocks and hoodoos that surrounded me. It was so other-worldly, that I had trouble taking it in.
There was one truck parked in the canyon, way on the opposite side from where I was. I never saw the occupant; in fact, I only saw one other person the entire time I was there. I was reading one day and starting to doze off when a car passed by. Cosmo barked and I woke up. It stopped and backed up and pulled into my campsite about 5 feet from me. Was it someone I knew? Did someone recognize me and stop to visit? Maybe they were lost or needed help. It was a white Toyota, with black tinted windows. I couldn’t see who was driving. They didn’t get out and it became very suspicious that someone would pull in that close to me. I waited. A young woman got out and I put Cosmo on his leash and we went outside. She was going to ignore me. (She THOUGHT she was going to ignore me!) I said “Hi, how are you doing?” I said it in the same tone I would use had someone knocked on my front door and then just stood there when I opened it. She said “hi” and went around to the passenger side to help an older woman with a cane get out.” I stood there in disbelief that she thought she was going to park in my campsite and say nothing. This is the equivalent of someone you don’t know parking in your driveway and then getting out and pretending that there was nothing out of the ordinary as they started to walk down your street. I tried not to be rude when I said “So what’s up?” She said “Oh nothing. Just exploring.” I just stared, and she helped the older woman walk a few yards to the edge of the canyon. I thought “Why, with hundreds of acres of land, out in the middle of nowhere, would you come and park next to someone in their campsite?” You have to understand that there were probably 3 or 4 other people I saw drive past me in vans or Jeeps over the week. I saw a couple drive back out. I suspected that there could be as many as 2 or 3 of us camped on these hundreds, if not thousands of acres, and yet, I could only see one of them and he (she?) was in the far, far, distance. So to come into this vast expanse of deserted land and park 5 feet from another camper was extremely bizarre. Cosmo and I got back in the van, and within minutes she and the older woman got back in the car and drove off. That was my encounter with humans for the week. One human encounter was quite sufficient.
I took Cosmo hiking down in the canyon every day. The coolest section was probably only 50 feet from my campsite, but it was a straight drop down. I think it was climbable by someone far younger than I with a little rock-climbing experience, but for an old man and a dog, the more reasonable way was to follow the dirt road about a quarter of a mile, and hike down a gentle slope into the canyon. I brought my camera every day. I tried to go within a half hour of sunrise or late in the afternoon. The light was magical. Cosmo LOVED being off-leash and he was pretty good at staying close to me except for the time he saw a rabbit. He did run off and chase it, but when I called him, (and when he saw me heading away from him) he came running back. I think he was afraid I’d leave him.
I could have stayed another week. I loved the slow-paced daily routine of getting up with the sun, getting coffee and doing e-mail in bed, and then taking a hike in the canyon. I liked the afternoons sitting in the sun reading, with Cosmo lying on the ground next to me. He is becoming a completely different dog than the puppy I raised in my old soap factory. He seems content, and “at home” wherever we stay for the night. It doesn’t seem to faze him that we live somewhere different every week. I guess for him (and for me as well) only the outside changes. We eat and sleep and rest inside, and that feels very constant.
But if I’m going to be travelling across Arizona and southern California, I needed to be going. I plan on stopping in Quartzsite and Joshua Tree (my old stomping grounds) on my way west, and in a few weeks, those places could be unbearably hot. So we took off and went back to Monument Valley and stayed another night at the RV park that allows dry camping for very cheap. It’s a good deal. They have a pool, laundry room, and showers. The next block down is a large grocery store, gas, and propane. Surrounded by giant red rocks, it’s really an oasis and a welcome stop for us.
In the morning I got an e-mail from my accountant. My taxes were done. I owed the IRS for capital gains for selling my soap factory; more than I had hoped, but not as much as feared. I figured out how to sign the e-file document online, then called my accountant and paid him by credit card. I went into the campground office, and they printed out the voucher that I needed to fill out and send to the IRS with payment. I wrote a check. I had a stamp, but no envelope. The office had none, so I drove down the street to the grocery store and bought a box of envelopes, then drove back up to the camp office where there was a mailbox. All done with the IRS. I think forever! This year my only income should be my social security, which is taxed, so there is a possibility I can recover some of that money. We’ll see. I should be able to do my taxes myself next year.
I hopped in the shower, and then took Cosmo for a walk before we headed south. We drove back to Navajo Mountain. It was hot in southern Utah, but climbing back up in altitude, it cooled off considerably. The next month should be interesting, being in the mountains some, being in the AZ and CA deserts some. I expect drastic fluctuations in the weather from day to day, and even sometimes between day and night.
At Navajo Mountain, I got my same site again…the one with the “back yard” that stretches on forever. It’s windy, and I’m feeling the effects of the altitude on my Below-Sea-Level-Delaware-Lungs, but it feels good to be here. It’s so serene and peaceful.
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I woke up the next morning and when I opened my fridge, something just seemed wrong. There was some water in the bottom of the tray. I have a “spot thermometer” (the kind that shines a laser light and takes the temperature at that exact spot. I checked and the freezer was 37 degrees. This happened last week, and I re-lit the pilot light (I still can’t comprehend how setting fire to propane can cool down a fridge, but I guess I’ll just have to remember what the nun’s in elementary school used to tell me: “It’s a miracle. You can never understand it, so just take it on faith.”) I re-lit the pilot, or at least tried. The pilot light is barely visible on the darkest night; there is no possibility of seeing it during the daytime. So I waited to see if the temperature would go back up. The fridge is a 3 way, meaning it can run on AC, DC or propane. I’m assuming it is original to the van, meaning it is 24 years old. I’ve put a call into 3 different RV repair shops, hoping someone would get back to me and be able to repair or replace it. A few hours later, I rechecked, and the freezer temperature was back down to 25. By afternoon it had reached 12 degrees. So, I’m assuming the problem was “operator error.” A new unit is about $1500 plus installation. I’d rather not spend that money if I can avoid it, but I do want a reliable refrigerator. Of the three RV repair places I contacted, only one responded. He was quite apologetic and said he’d moved out of the area to near San Diego, CA. He said he’d been trying to get Google to correct the listing, with no luck. He asked (by text) what the issue was and tried to help me trouble shoot it. He said if I was ever in the San Diego area he’d be happy to take a look and see what he could do and if need be, replace it for me. You can bet I kept his information. As of now, everything seems to be fine again. I’ll keep an eye on it and hope that it was just a fluke.
Lessons from the Road: My friend Leslie warned me to be careful hiking in the desert. She said it is easy to get disoriented and lose your way, and if you can’t see your van, all the rocks and sand start to look alike and you may think you are heading in the right direction, but in reality, you could be getting further and further away. I took that to heart. When we hiked in the canyon, I paid attention to where we were when we reached the canyon floor. We were hiking back in the direction of the van, but when we got there, we would be easily 20 or 30 feet or more below where the van is parked, and would not be able to see it. There are a limited number of places to walk back up to “van level.” If I didn’t set a landmark, we could wander around in the canyon and not find a slope gentle enough to get back out. In a pinch, I could probably climb some of the rocks and get back up. Cosmo? Not so much. So I paid close attention to the landmarks. The first day, I even took a picture with my iPhone in case I couldn’t remember the specific rock formation that marked the way out.
What I wasn’t prepared for was the disorientation that comes with an intermittent cell/internet signal. The whole time we were there, my cell signal varied from moment to moment. Some mornings the cell signal was 3 bars; then at night, in the same spot it was non-existent. Sometimes I picked up a signal from Monticello—a mountain about 50 miles away. I was glad for any signal at all, but it wreaked havoc with my trip planning and GPS signal. I’d try to figure out how far to my next planned stop and it would add an hour or more to the trip, thinking we were somewhere we were not. And where it thought we were seemed to change from hour to hour. Several times I’d go to weather.com to make sure the temperature wouldn’t drop below freezing that night only to find out that weather.com thought it was 24 degrees and currently snowing where I was. Every time I plotted a course out of there, Google Maps would start from a different point, sometimes hours away. After a while, I was no longer sure exactly where I was. Actually, I was never sure where I was from the very beginning. I used GPS coordinates to get there, and “there” was so far from any marked road that I really didn’t know what town was even close to us. The day I left, I had no internet or cell service at all. I plugged in the coordinates to where I wanted to go next and could not get directions because my phone couldn’t connect to anything. I had a moment of panic thinking that I had absolutely zero idea how to get to the next place, because I didn’t even know where I was. I calmed myself and knew which way I came into the campsite. There was only one road in and out. I figured if I followed that, I’d eventually get a cell signal and my phone would once again guide me to the new coordinates.
It was also quite disorienting to see the lights (campfires?) off in the distance at night. Everything was pitch black, so any hoodoos or other landmarks were invisible. But out of the back of my van, I could often see two, sometimes three lights that seemed to be far in the distance. Were they in the canyon? On the other side of the canyon? Or could they be up in the mountains 50 miles away? I had no idea. Depth perception in the dark is non-existent. I tried each morning to see if I could tell where the lights had been the previous night with no luck. I searched with binoculars to see if there were any signs of camps or houses in that direction, and found nothing. And then there was that drumming sound. What was that? I’m fairly certain it was not a drum. I believe it was something mechanical, but if so, why was it not more rhythmical? (It sounded a bit like a piledriver). I guess it will remain a mystery. All these things, combined with coyotes howling at night, and the pitch-black skies were unsettling. I won’t go so far as to say they were scary, but I will tell you that when I took Cosmo out for his nightly relief at bedtime, we didn’t walk too far into the darkness, and once he pee’d, we didn’t waste anytime scurrying back to the van.
I watched the movie Into The Wild again last night. I think I’ve seen it at least twice before. It is based on the true story of a guy who just graduated from college, setting off to find his way in the wilderness. I’d seen this twice before I took off in my van. Perhaps it gave me inspiration to actually attempt the nomadic life. But watching it now that I have nearly a year’s experience under my belt, I was surprised to see him at places I’ve been. I recognized him hitch hiking over the Hoover Dam (which I was at just last month) and staying in Slab City (which I visited last fall.) Another scene had him talking to the guy who built Salvation Mountain (who has since died, but I got to visit Salvation Mountain with my friend Roy in the fall). There were other places and references that made me smile and realize “I know about that!” But the scene that really blew my mind was one where he went into a National Park Ranger’s office. He asked where the best place was to launch his kayak (we discovered later he was apparently at the Grand Canyon on the Colorado River.) The ranger asked his experience level and he replied “not much.” The ranger says “You can’t just “launch” down the river. You need a permit.” Alex asks “A permit for what?” The ranger says if he gets some experience, he can apply for a permit and get on a waiting list. Alex says incredulously “There is a waiting list to paddle down a river? How long do I have to wait?” The ranger gets out his book, flips some pages, and tells Alex the next available slot would be May 17, 2003. Alex says “I’d have to wait TWELVE YEARS to do this?” The ranger explains that he could sign up with a licensed tour operator, that MAY have last minute cancellations, but that would cost $2,000. Alex thanks him and leaves and the next scene he is pushing a shopping cart with a kayak in it down a rocky slope. The next shot was him bobbing up and down in the raging white waters, the Grand Canyon walls on either side of him. I just had to stand up and cheer. (Inside my van, nobody knew how crazy that looked except Cosmo, and he knows all my secrets and is telling no one.) The general theme of the movie is how crazy society has gotten and how unkind and unreasonable people can be. (When asked “what people” he replies “Parents, politicians, religious leaders, teachers, police…”) I just LOVED his face when he said to the park ranger “I’d have to wait 12 years to do this?” That has been my experience with National Parks. They are no longer available to the vast majority of visitors. Camping spots are booked up a year or more in advance. If you want to walk certain trails, you must apply for a permit. In Arches National Park, you must make a reservation for a specific time just to get your car in a long line to even ENTER the park. I was so happy to see that I was not the only one who was flabbergasted by the ridiculousness of needing a permit and having to wait 12 years to get into a river. And although I have zero interest in white water rafting, I do often run into roadblocks to see or do the things I’d like. How can a beach be “private?” How can a city or town prohibit parking on a public street if you are in a van? How can it be illegal to sleep in a public parking lot? The rules and restrictions that humans put on mother nature just seem absurd to me at times, and I wonder how the vast majority of humans just take those limitations in stride.
That’s all I got this week.
Love you like a dog.
See you down the road!
Scott