I had a leisurely morning and then packed up to go to our new destination. The drive back to Tuba City, AZ was only supposed to take an hour, but the winds were atrocious, and I was having trouble keeping the van on the road if I exceeded 55 m.p.h. The weather report said steady winds of 35 m.p.h. with gusts up to 50. It was not good driving weather. We arrived shortly after noon at the place that allowed us to take a tent spot a couple weeks ago, for half price. I pulled in and got set up. Cosmo and I headed to the “dog park” which was only a few feet away, but we didn’t stay long. The wind was blowing dust everywhere, and I was alternately choking and crying from dust and debris in my lungs and eyes. Cosmo chased the ball he had found on our walk a few nights before. It’s a tennis ball, but smaller than regulation size. I’m not sure where he got it. We were walking and I stopped to talk to a fellow camper, and when we went back to walking I looked over and he had the orange ball in his mouth. I kept laughing because he was literally prancing and wagging his tail. He was so proud to have gotten this ball. He’s carried it around with him most of the day. At night when we got into bed, I said “Where’s your ball?” and he immediately jumped out of bed and returned with the ball in his mouth. At any rate, our game of fetch was short-lived because of the wind. I took him back to the van and went across the way to get a shower. This is the place where the shower and dressing room are one large space and I could easily park my van in it. The water got scalding hot, and I dialed it back just enough so as not to suffer injury. I took a long shower, and then lingered under the steamy stream for maybe 10 minutes more. I initially felt a little bit guilty, letting the hot water wash over me. I’ve talked with others on the road, and we laugh at how stingy we are with our water supply, never knowing when we will next be able to top off our tanks. So when I have a crack at limitless hot water, it’s a rare treat.
Afterwards, back in the van, I caught up on e-mails and cleaned the van up a bit. Living in the desert is dirty. I wiped counters and tables down before leaving Navajo Mountain. By the time I got to Tuba City, I could write my name in the red dust collected on every horizontal surface. I have so enjoyed the warmth of the desert this past winter, and the beautiful sunrises and sunsets, and the dark skies at night, but I’m really looking forward to heading into northern CA for the summer. The thought of fresh air, pine trees, and WATER is exciting. I can’t wait to dip my feet in a lake or stream or river. But that will have to wait. Before I head north, I’m crossing through Quartzsite and Joshua Tree and Palm Springs once more. After that, I should be out of the dust bowl for a few months.
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I woke up to a fine, red, gritty dust covering everything inside and outside the van.
I had wiped everything down before bed, but I guess during the night the dust infiltrated, through air vents, cracks or whatever. The windows were closed, but that didn’t stop the all-invasive red dust. I got out a damp cloth and started cleaning all over again. I had to change cleaning rags often because after a couple of passes the cloth was just smearing red mud.
I was in a pretty good mood and got ready quickly and topped off my freshwater tank. I was excited to get back to BLM land again. I got on the road and headed toward my next destination at Coconino National Forest, just north of Flagstaff. There were three different areas on BLM land, so I was almost certain of getting a spot. When I got there, the road was closed. It was a narrow road and it took me some maneuvering to get turned around. As I was heading out, a park ranger was heading in and he stopped and got out of his truck. He said thousands of acres had burned in a wildfire. Everything was closed he told me, apologetically. How sad. My back up plan was a Home Depot parking lot in Flagstaff that reviews on iOverlander said was an easy and safe place to stay. I got there and parked in the back where they suggested. It seemed like just a normal Home Depot. I went in and got some peat moss for my composting toilet. When I got back to the van, I took Cosmo for a walk and checked the surroundings. There was a small, wooded area adjacent to the parking lot. There were lots of empty booze bottles and several rolled-up, dirty sleeping bags. It seemed like a small homeless encampment. I surveyed the parking lot and saw several old cars, all packed to the gills with “stuff”—everything but the driver’s seat was full. It was clear these folks were living in their cars. No judgment here. We’re all just looking for a free, safe place to park for the night. This place gave off a bad vibe and I’ve learned to listen to my gut. I searched other apps and found a Cracker Barrel 10 minutes away. Cracker Barrel is a huge downgrade from the beautiful canyon I stayed at last week. In fact, it is the opposite of remote, idyllic, peaceful. But I’ve always gotten an RV pull-through space if I wanted one (sometimes peripheral parking is nicer) and I’ve always felt safe and secure. I pulled into a space next to an island (assuring at least my entry side would not have anyone parked next to me) and leveled up easily. It would work for one night.
My spot for the next night appears to also be burned out by fires. I was heading toward Sedona, AZ and so I started my search over again on the three main apps I use. Everything is either extremely crowded, already booked up, very expensive, or very expensive AND already booked up. I found a couple of BLM spots, but unsure if they will have open sites, or if they’ve been affected by the fires as well. I guess I’ll find out.
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In the morning I left early. Cracker Barrels, though not my favorite place to stay are usually at least quiet and free and safe. The one I stayed at last night was free and safe, but filled with pretty obnoxious people. Most often, people pull in, cover their windows with reflective shades or curtains, and settle in for the night. Last night was a hillbilly gathering, for whatever reason. The rednecks and Trumpsters were out and hollerin’. There was a guy parked with a space between us. He kept walking around his big rig, and I wasn’t sure what he was looking for. Then an old man with Montana tags pulled in across from us, and got out and the two of them started whooping it up. I guess the guy next to me was just lookin’ for a little company. They were about 10 feet apart, but they “hollered” like Garret Morris doing the news for the hard of hearing (if you are too young to remember that, ask and adult.) Then a woman with a walkie talkie who sounded like Marjorie Taylor Green came by and joined in. She was apparently guiding her hubby who was in a humongous Class A and trying to find him a place to park. The guy next to me, chivalrous as he was, invited her to pull in between me and him. He even pulled up his steps so they could fit. The big rig pulled in, about 12 inches from me. The guy on the other side came and stood at the back of my van and the guy from the big rig stood next to him. They both “hollered” at each other about where they’ve been and where they “was goin’.” Cosmo had a fit. I usually try to stop him from barking when people walk or drive by, but these two were inches from my bedroom window. I decided that Cosmo was doing his job to let me know and discourage them. Finally the one guy who was closest looked up and through my window. He glared at me and I glared right back. Zero manners. He finally backed up, but only a bit. The giant rig that had pulled in next to me, stuck out over a foot in the front and easily two feet in the back. The space was clearly not big enough for him to park in, but he obviously didn’t care that he was blocking everyone who wanted to get by. I’ve never been in a Cracker Barrel parking lot with this many obnoxious people. I pulled my curtains and went to bed early. I woke up quite early and nearly every parking spot was taken by vans, trucks with campers, 5th wheels and class A’s.
Not a parking space left and Cracker Barrel wasn’t yet open. By the time they did open, most were pulling out.
I finished my coffee, checked my route one more time, and got on the road. The wind was howling again, and there were warnings for gusts up to 50 mph, and warnings for high profile vehicles (that would be me) to proceed with caution. I hate to drive in the wind. I was heading toward Sedona, and there were no such warnings there, so I figured I just needed to get 15 or 20 minutes down the road, and the winds should subside. They did, but there was roadwork in the mountains, the road was already narrow, steep, and winding, and they blocked off one lane and were letting cars go through in one direction at a time. It was a pretty grueling drive and I feared that in the end, I’d end up at another road blocked due to the fire. When I arrived at the spot that was my first choice, I saw 4 vans coming out. I wondered if they were leaving after having had a pleasant stay there, or they were leaving because no spots were left. As I entered the rough road, I immediately saw a large dirt clearing on the left. There were 4 rigs already parked, with plenty of room for 4 more. I would come back if I couldn’t find a better spot deeper in. The next clearing was wide and went back a long way. There was a skoolie, a class C and a couple of small pull-behinds. They were spaced far apart, and one section was totally empty. I pulled in and drove around for a minute until I hit a nearly level spot. With some maneuvering, and my leveling app (thank you Richard!) I got parked with all wheels showing 0.0 on my phone. Perfectly level with no need for blocks. It was warm (mid-70’s) and the wind had died down. Cosmo and I took a walk. I could feel the tension from having been in civilization (well, HILLBILLY, civilization) overnight release from my shoulders and I let out a sigh of relief. This is my home today:
It is the exact opposite of Cracker Barrel. When I pulled in, a young man with dreadlocks and two dogs, flashed a huge smile and a peace sign to welcome me. I returned the gestures, and immediately knew I was home.
I’ve had a bit of a rough week with technology and equipment. Sporadic cell signal, my laptop charging cord has a loose connection and doesn’t want to charge properly, and my remote hard drive that I store all my photos on has a bad connection as well. (Probably clogged with red dust). I ordered a new cord and hope that will fix the issue so I don’t lose all my photos. AND…my propane fridge is still acting up (although it does always light. I still think the problem is that I’m over-reacting and possibly trying to make too many adjustments at one time).
I’ve heard a clunking sound in the van that seems to be coming from the rear axle. It was worse today on the mountain drive. Then I couldn’t be sure if it was actually the rear axle or one of the wheels, or if perhaps it was the nearly full freshwater tank sloshing when I turned a corner or slowed down. How much is needless worry and how much is needing to pay attention to possible mechanical warnings before they become reals issues? I don’t know. As I was walking Cosmo, my new friend with dreadlocks and dogs struck up a conversation. He was working on his brakes, and I told him of my “clunking sound.” He asked a few questions about the sound and when I answered all in the affirmative, he said “it’s your U joint. Simple fix. $14 part, one hour of mechanic’s time.” I was so glad to hear that. I suspect he’s right because he seemed to know what the sound was, when it happened, and said the true test is to put my foot on the brake and change from Drive to Reverse and back to Drive. He said if it’s making a clunking sound while still, but changing gears, that’s the U joint. I already have observed that.
I found a mechanic in Prescott Valley that has a 5 star rating and he is only 4 blocks from Barbara and Lark’s where I’ll be stopping next. I’m hoping he will make time to get me in and take a look. I would feel so relieved to have that problem fixed and have everything else checked out so I have some reassurance that all is OK for the next leg of my journey.
As it got dark, about a dozen more rigs pulled into our nicely spaced-out camp. Everything from a mega bus to a Chevy Volt. As it grew later, even more cars pulled in, and the occupants put up reflective shades and I suppose went to sleep. Many of the cars were gone when I woke up at sunrise. The medium sized rigs started pulling out around 9:00 a.m., after coffee and chatting with neighbors. It was warm and no wind, so I took advantage of the opportunity to get my ladder out and climb up on the roof and wash my solar panels. I couldn’t believe how dusty they were. I came inside and continued the never-ending task of wiping the red dust off everything. I seemed to be out of the dust bowl, and with no wind, it didn’t feel quite so futile to wipe everything down.
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I woke up to the sun blazing through my windows. When I looked out, there was something in the sky. Upon closer inspection, there were several somethings in the sky. Hot Air Balloons!
It was so cool to see them. I got up, put the coffee on and took Cosmo out to pee. When I decided to stay here, my backup spot was called “Balloon field.” It seemed to be a mile down the road, and when I got here first, it seemed nice enough, so I stayed. Apparently the entrance to Balloon Field is a mile or so down the road, but that road must come very close to the road I took. The balloons were heading my way, and in about a half an hour, several of them landed within just a few feet from me. It was cool to see them coming in, and a great way to greet the morning.
After coffee and checking e-mails, I saw that many of the people who pulled in later at night were up and stirring (the one next to me was literally stirring…his COFFEE). I grabbed a clementine—I had bought a bag last week and they were starting to look old. I can’t eat a whole bag before some inevitably turn to penicillin. I saw the man parked next to me in a regular van (not a high-top conversion) drinking coffee and eating a banana. He looked very much like I looked in 1972. I got out of my van with Cosmo and gave him the clementine. He seemed very grateful. Cosmo wanted to walk to the other side of the dirt lot we were in, and after he did his business, another man standing next to his car with the driver side door open was eating breakfast out of a big pot resting on the roof of his car. He said hello and Cosmo and I visited. Cosmo was very excited by the man’s food (obviously not vegetarian) and the man asked if Cosmo could have a piece of cheese. Cosmo’s favorite food is cheese, so he was quite pleased. The man introduced himself as Brian. He was from Maryland, was disabled, had lost his job and lived in his car. We had a delightful conversation, making each other laugh a lot. When I left to go back to my van, he said “I’m glad you’re on this planet with us.” I thought that was an extremely nice thing to say. I told him I was glad too. I’d had a few days of feeling way out of my element, fighting for space with rich tourists who seemed very disrespectful of the land they occupied. The BLM land I was on seemed evenly divided between tourists to Sedona and campers/homeless. Every night, after dark, a half dozen or so cars snuck in. I say “snuck” because they came late, pulled into any space they could find, and left before sunrise. The guy who I thought looked like the 1972 version of me happened to “sleep in” and I met him briefly. My sense is that some of these people don’t have a lot, but have adapted to living in a car and finding free spots to park. The people who discover BLM land seem quite different from those who stay in Walmart or Cracker Barrel parking lots. They always return my wave and smile. We somehow recognize each other as part of the same tribe.
When I left Cracker Barrel parking lot the other morning, I was stressed and not having a good day. After two days on BLM land and I had another wanderer diagnose my van issue, had someone who seemed to have very little, share some of his cheese with Cosmo, seen hot air balloons land in the field next to my van, and had some of the biggest smiles directed my way. I feel renewed.
Later that day we arrived at Barbara and Lark’s in Prescott Valley, AZ. I stopped at the mechanic only 4 blocks from them to see if they could look at my van. They can…NEXT WEDNESDAY! I guess in this post-covid age, only waiting a week is probably pretty quick. I’d hoped they would say “Sure. Bring it in tomorrow and we’ll take care of it.” No such luck. The good news is that Barbara and Lark have graciously offered me their driveway until I can get it in and fixed.
Cosmo and I settled in and then went in the house and visited. It’s only been a couple months since we last visited, but it was nice to catch up. My kitchen faucet has been dripping for a few weeks. It’s not a big deal, because I can easily turn of the switch that controls the water pump and that resolves the issue. But I’ve wanted to replace that faucet (it’s old, corroded, and not very nice) with a newer, taller version with a pull-out sprayer. Barbara and Lark have a handyman who helped me with my toilet the last time I visited and he agreed to replace the faucet for me. I ordered the one I wanted and it was delivered to Barbara last week. Nate (the handyman) came yesterday and we spent 3 hours trying to get the old faucet disconnected. It looked simple and straight-forward, but it was extremely tight working quarters, and I could barely get my hands up behind the sink. We ended up driving to Home Depot for a special tool that would reach under and around the hose to get a grip on the nut. Even after we got the special wrench, it took another hour for Nate to wiggle, jiggle and maneuver it loose. We got the new one on, and it leaked. The pipes that went through the countertop were not long enough and so the nuts on the hose could not be tightened enough to make a waterproof connection. Nate tried hard, but it just wasn’t going to work. He felt bad that he left with the old dripping faucet back on and I felt bad that he had spent 3 hours and didn’t want any pay. We compromised and split the difference, but both of us felt defeated. Lark has offered to take me to Ace or Home Depot today to see if they have a faucet with longer pipes below the sink level. If so, perhaps Nate will come back and finish the job. We both know how to do it now.
Lessons from the Road: You know I’ve been fascinated since I left Delaware with the fine line between nomadic people and homeless people. I guess in the Venn Diagram, they overlap, but I’m not sure how much. Staying in a Cracker Barrell parking lot (again), I took some time and walked Cosmo around the perimeter. My first thought is I don’t know how Cracker Barrell makes any money. Way more than half the parking lot is taken up with RV’s, vans, and people who are obviously living in their cars. Some nice cars, some not so nice. Same with the vans. Quite a few are held together by duct tape, and have bumpers attached with bailing wire. There are also some high-end vans, and a few gigantic Class A rigs costing several hundred thousand dollars. Some vans and cars and camper trucks park discretely in a back corner parking space. Other 5th wheels and colossal big rigs take up 5, 6, or even 7 spaces. Many put their sliders out on each side, thus rendering adjacent spaces unusable. Some people get out and walk around, while others never exit their vehicles. Very few go in to eat. I drove through some very well-to-do neighborhoods in Flagstaff to get here, but I’d have to say that the overall feel is that the people parked here for the night are not very well-to-do. A few are. Maybe they are here because of the hordes of tourists flocking to Flagstaff and Sedona in the spring and there just aren’t enough campsites to fit us all. Maybe they are just too cheap to pay for a campground better suited to their mega-mansions on wheels, or maybe after spending $500,000 on a vacation RV, they don’t have enough left to pay $60 a night for a KOA. People in the nicer rigs don’t get out. They park, put up their satellite dishes and put out their cell phone boosters, then draw the curtains and stay inside, I presume, watching Wheel of Fortune. The people in the shabbiest rigs get out and wander around and eventually stand on the grass between the parking lot and the highway, smoking cigarettes and chatting with each other.
I’ve watched several people get out with multiple bags of garbage and walk around to the front entrance where they have trash cans, and they shove the bags in until the trash cans are overflowing. Two men with their vehicles parked behind me were standing outside, complaining that Cracker Barrel needs to have a few dumpsters out back saying “they can SEE how many of us camp here.” American entitlement at it’s worst.
I wonder where I fit in to all of this. My first thought (and sincerest hope) is that I don’t fit in at all. And yet here I am, parked with these people, many who make me ashamed to be part of the human race.
It’s for one night. I’ll leave in the morning and hope I have better luck at the next BLM land I’m heading towards, South of Sedona. With any luck I’ll be back with my tribe tomorrow night.