Cody, Yellowstone and Ennis–July, 2013

Knowing we had some rough mountain driving ahead of us, we made an early departure from Sheridan, heading up over the Big Horns before the day got too hot.  Fortunately going westbound put us on the mountain side of the road as opposed to the cliff side but there were still plenty of sharp curves to keep me gripping my seat belt and holding my breath.  It didn’t improve my blood pressure any when the engine began to complain that she was thirsty and hot, never a good sign when you’re on a road with no pull-offs.  But we eventually reached the top at Granite Pass (elevation 9033’) and the descent into Greybull seemed less dramatic.  Once we were in the Big Horn Basin it was easy sailing to Cody even though the scenery is not much to write home about.

We had to navigate our way through Cody to the nearly non-existent town of Wapiti.  Our campground had an odd arrangement of sites, a grumpy office manager with no idea he’s actually in the hospitality business and an unobstructed view of what we later learned is Smith’s Mansion.  During our week-long stay we experienced some pretty dramatic weather and it was always interesting to see the changes in light and shadows on this totally weird structure.  It wasn’t until our departure that we learned the whole story behind this bizarre landmark.  Check out the story, we think you’ll find it interesting.

On our first full day in the area we headed back into Cody to scope things out, wandering in and out of all the shops and galleries along the main drag.  On the way back to Wapiti we stopped for a tour of the Buffalo Bill Dam where the Shoshone River enters a narrow canyon.  During the spring run-off, feeder streams and rivers wash dead logs eastward and they clog up at the dam.  Eventually someone comes and scoops them out and hauls them away.  The dam creates a large reservoir which provides irrigation water, allowing the desert-like valley to be turned into lush pasture land.  There are a number of camping areas along the shoreline of the reservoir but it’s strictly dry camping we which don’t enjoy unless it absolutely can’t be avoided.  But the sites sure were pretty, with views of the water and surrounding mountains.

The next day we returned to Cody for a tour of the Buffalo Bill Center of the West, a five-part complex which features a natural history section, a gun collection that just boggles the mind, Native American art and artifacts, a gallery of Western art (just when we thought we’d seen every Remington and Russell in existence, there’s more) and a museum devoted to the subject of Buffalo Bill Cody himself.  Cody worked his way up from Pony Express rider to world-renown showman and became an icon of western Americana.  The Codys had five children, four of whom died at a relatively early age and are buried at the Mount Hope Cemetery in Rochester, New York.  Who knew?  The only one to survive to adulthood was Irma; Buffalo Bill built a hotel in downtown Cody and named it in her honor. 

Although it was no easy drive, we made three day-trips into Yellowstone National Park.  We had first visited the park about seven years ago, traveling in from the north entrance near Gardiner, Montana.  And we thought that was a long and inconvenient trip to reach the important sights in the park!  At least we didn’t have to go up and over Sylvan Pass twice a day to get where we were going and home again as we did on this visit.  Our purpose on the first day was to check out the viability of our plan to cross the park in the coach as we exited the area and headed into Montana.  But you can’t help but go sightseeing when you’re in Yellowstone so we visited the Lower Falls of the Yellowstone River (where we saw the one and only bull elk of our entire visit), drove through Hayden Meadow and visited the Norris Geyser Basin.  At one of the visitor centers we watched a film about the park and some of its denizens which included footage of bison bulls facing off in a shoving contest.  I couldn’t help but picture them as offensive linemen and like offensive linemen after a hard day of pushing and shoving, they like to settle down for a nice steam bath.  They often park themselves very near the bubbling water which brings them into quite close proximity to tourists.  We ran out of time that first day and had to backtrack from Norris to Canyon Village in order to get home before dark (and before the storms arrived). 

The following day we went back to the park and took the southern segment of The Grand Loop clockwise around, skirting the shores of Yellowstone Lake through West Thumb and up to Old Faithful.  We arrived there about half a hour before it was “scheduled” to do its thing.  The parking lots were mobbed and we trudged quite a distance to get to the viewing area but we only had to stand around for about twenty minutes before the geyser began to making some gurgling and steaming motions, teasing the crowd a bit before actually spewing forth.  It’s not easy to convince yourself that it is all Mother Nature’s handiwork; there’s always a bit of suspicion that some fancy underground plumbing is involved.  We stopped at the visitors center to watch a short film which explains what causes the area around Yellowstone to be seething with underground activity making the entire area highly unstable.  We got back to our campground just in time to watch yet another thunderstorm play itself out over the Absarokas.

Our final trip into the park was made on the Fourth of July and we expected huge crowds.  But there was no more traffic than there had been with approximately the same number of really dumb tourists who don’t seem to realize that wild animals are just that and therefore unpredictable.  “Bison jams” and “bear jams” are common on the roadways and driving times are all approximate.  You just never know when Mama Buffalo will stop in the middle of the road to nurse her calf or when some doofus will leave his car halfway off the shoulder, doors open and motor running, to stalk what he thinks is a grizzly off in the distance.

We chose the northern Grand Loop, heading counter-clockwise from Canyon Village to Tower Junction then around to Mammoth Hot Springs.  We didn’t see any elk this time but plenty of bison and one lone grizzly ‘way off in the distance.  Once again we got back to the coach before the storms began.

 

Having exhausted the major sights of Yellowstone and being tired of the long drive, we spent our final day on a trip to Heart Mountain Relocation Center Museum which is about 15 miles from Cody on the road to Powell.  One hardly expects a visit to a museum devoted to the subject of the incarceration of first and second generation Japanese immigrants during WWII to be a heart-pounding experience but it turned out to be for us when Howie discovered his drivers license and an insurance card were missing from his wallet.  It was no fun contemplating how to go about getting a replacement.  We were distractedly trying to read the story boards when Howie was paged; someone had found the documents and turned them in at the desk.  Whew!  With the onus of the loss removed, we were able to relax and appreciate the information the museum had to offer.  There were upwards of 14,000 internees at Heart Mountain, mostly from the coast of California, and they did not adapt well to Wyoming’s bitter winters.  But they were nothing if not resourceful, turning the high desert landscape into bountiful gardens to supplement their meager meals, making their stark living quarters into cozy (if crowded) family quarters.  They eventually had most of the comforts of home but lacking the important component of freedom.  Like most of the internment camps, the landscape is stark and Heart Mountain seems to lurk over it.  Only one “lobe” of the heart-shape is visible from the museum but closer to Cody you can see both “lobes”.  Heart Mountain is in itself an interesting specimen geologically. 

Finally it was time to pack up and move on.  The trip across Yellowstone in the coach was, for me, a white-knuckle adventure until we got to turn onto West Entrance Road for the final miles into West Yellowstone, Montana.  And we were certainly happy to be heading west out of the park instead of east into it – the traffic was lined up four lanes wide and all the way into town from the entrance gate.  It looked for sure like there’d be some “speed touring” happening that day!  The drive to Ennis, our next stop, is entirely along the Madison River, around Hebgen Lake and then Quake Lake and back once again to the shoreline of the Madison.  Anglers were out angling and we enjoyed the wide vistas of the river valley.

Our campground turned out to be behind a motel consisting of a number of small cabins, each boasting flower boxes crammed to over flowing with all sorts of posies.  After the busy-ness of the past week, it was good to just kick back and relax, enjoy the peace and quiet, sniffing in that good sweet mountain air.  My idea of “camping out” is to leave the bedroom window open at night and I was lulled to sleep by the breeze in the aspens and the river gurgling its way to Three Forks.

Our purpose in coming to Ennis was to pay a visit to the old mining town of Virginia City which we did on a fine Sunday afternoon.  Once home to 10,000 people and the capitol of Montana Territory, Virginia City is now home to about 190 hardy souls.  The main street is crammed with shops selling all manner of souvenirs, tourists wandering about and cars parked in a more or less random pattern.  The majority of buildings have been left “as is”, adding a certain authenticity to the town.  Certainly not authentic, was a young cowgirl astride her horse merrily texting away on her cell phone.  On our way back down the hill to Ennis we stopped at the Madison Valley History Association Museum.  We didn’t have high hopes for the contents of the museum but, as with so many small town historical museums, this was a trove of interesting local artifacts.  The docent was quick to lead us to the museum’s prize possession, a mount of a rather scruffy-looking canine of some sort, known as the Madison Monster.  About the size of a German shepherd with a head like a hyena’s and oddly bent forelegs, it was hard to guess the genesis of this beastie.  DNA testing has not been allowed by the person or persons who own the rights to the Monster’s story.  And the monster was only one of the fascinating items on display at this friendly little museum.  There was plenty to see, including a magnificent view of the Gallatin Mountains and the thunderstorm brewing above them.

The town of Ennis has devoted itself to the fly fisherman and there are many shops downtown selling fishing gear of all sorts.  And there are many places to eat.  They have a very nice little library and quite possibly the handsomest bank west of the Mississippi.  The bank probably has a drive-up window and an ATM but it also has a broad green lawn with picnic tables and a display of metal sculptures near the street.  Our visit came to a close with an emphatic thunderstorm and some steady rain, giving us an excellent chance to get caught up on some chores around the coach.

Tomorrow?  Well, it’s on to Missoula….

Rockin’ In The Rockies - 2013

As we drove north from Nebraska to the Black Hills area of South Dakota, it was obvious that drought conditions had abated somewhat since our last visit.  The emerald green prairie seemed particularly lush under bright blue skies and it would be easy to become hypnotized by the undulating grass.  It was good to be home.

Our first stop was Sturgis for a rally.  Not THE rally that Sturgis is most famous for, but the Full Timers Chapter rally, a gathering of friends old and new.  We ate, played games, had happy hours, then ate some more.  The highlight of the rally was a bus trip to Deadwood, arranged by the rally hosts.  Our driver, Alkali Ike, made note of the fact that he had plenty of back-up drivers aboard in case he needed help but I’m not sure all that many of them would be as skillful as he in negotiating the tight turns through the Mt. Moriah Cemetery.  Nor could they provide the steady stream of Ole and Lena jokes.  Mt. Moriah is the final resting place of many of Deadwood’s most famous (or infamous) citizens including Wild Bill Hickok and Calamity Jane.  Hickok was gunned down as he was enjoying a friendly game of cards at a local saloon.  And Jane likely drank herself to death. 

After the rally was over we had an extra day before relocating so we made the short drive to Rapid City.  Darlene, Sally and I went in one car and Mike, Jack and Howie went in another and we met in downtown Rapid for a visit to one of the most wondrous stores of all time, Prairie Edge.  The store offers a splendid array of Native American arts and crafts. There is also the not-to-be-missed cast paper sculptures done by a husband and wife team of artists, Patty and Allen Eckman.  Check this blog posting for some excellent photos.  The level of detail is hard to believe.  The store also offers an excellent selection of books and music and even non-beaders will appreciate the array of glass beads on display in apothecary jars – it’s a work of art by itself.  After oohing and aahing our way around the store, we headed off to a quilt show at the enormous Rushmore Plaza Civic Center where we did even more oohing and aahing.  Then it was back downtown for a quick lunch at The Firehouse Brewing Co. 

We bade a temporary good-bye to our full-timing friends and headed up the hill to our home park, Rushmore Shadows.  Our stay there over-lapped by one day with Rose and John’s and we took the opportunity to drive out to Box Elder for a tour of the South Dakota Air and Space Museum.  The museum has an excellent collection of planes, including a B-1 bomber.  Although it was a bit pricey, we took the  bus tour of Ellsworth Air Force Base which included a visit to a Minuteman Missile site.  The base itself is enormous and quite elegant by military standards.  There’s even a golf course – given the velocity of South Dakota breezes, you can probably get some pretty long drives at that course.

After John and Rose’s departure, we had to buckle down and get some “housekeeping” chores attended to.  One of the first things on the agenda was to run out to pick up our mail at our mail forwarding service in Box Elder.  The facility is quite new and Don gave us a guided tour.  There’s even a small campground and motel-style room so clients can be “at home” in comfort.

Full Timers can’t go long without dining out.  Dinner at The Firehouse Brewing Co.  for their all-you-can-eat spareribs seemed like a good idea so we rounded up Russ and Janet and met up with Mike, Darlene, Jack and Sally for a night on the town.  Well, not a night exactly, more like an early evening.  The restaurant was quite busy and the downtown streets bustling so it would seem that Rapid City is healthy and happy.  And that delights us because it is one of our favorite places.  Big enough to have whatever you’re looking for and small enough to feel comfortable.

Of course no visit to the Black Hills would be complete without a trip (or more) to Custer State Park.  Armed with power bars and a camera, we ventured off on the wildlife loop where we saw several herds of bison.  It appears that there was a bumper crop of babies this year.  We also came across a band of bachelor bison grazing quite near the road.  One large fellow was enjoying a dust bath on the shoulder of the road and chose to stand up just as we passed reminding us once again that adult bison are bigger than a Saturn.  Also, they smell a little funky. 

Further on we came upon a small herd burros.  They are not indigenous to the area but are the progeny of pack animals turned loose by a now-defunct hiking outfitter.  They seemed quite placid, even the new mothers, and allowed the tourists to walk among them.  Tourists are sometimes not the brightest of beings and seem to forget that wild animals are not Disney characters.  They may act benign but….

We were marking time in the Black Hills until it was time to proceed on to Gillette, Wyoming for FMCA’s 50th Anniversary Celebration at the 88th Family Reunion and Motorhome Showcase which was held at the enormous Cam-Plex.  When we got parked, it seemed we were miles away from the center of activities but the buses ran frequently and it was easy enough to get around…until some new bus routes were introduced and we ended up in sections that didn’t seem all that familiar.  Once all the rigs were in place, we probably comprised one of the top ten cities in Wyoming and all the coaches start to look alike after awhile.  The grand finale, at least for us, turned out not to be the Marty Stuart concert but rather a monumental thunderstorm with tornado warnings and 60 mph winds.  Howie was stranded at the nice stout event center while I rode out the storm in the coach.  The NOAA radio kept squawking about finding shelter in basements of sturdy buildings while the best I could do was to pull in the slides.  The wind was not only strong enough to blow the hair off a frog, it was strong enough to blow the doors off a Prevost (or so the rumor mill said).  But then the sun came out and my blood pressure returned to normal.

The rally was a reunion of some of our favorite folks.  Rose and John were there, of course.  Then Linda and Don pulled in; we haven’t seen them in several years and we were glad to be able to share a couple of happy hours with them.  Unfortunately they were battling the what-broke-this-time syndrome and had to struggle along without their generator.  Our coach got designated as “party central” for the Full Timers’ happy hour because we had the biggest site, sandwiched as we were between two rows of horse stalls.  Roger and Cathy arrived in time to join us one evening but then had to leave early so we didn’t really get to spend enough time with them.  We’re hoping to have more time together this winter to really kick back and catch up on each others’ lives.

And then it came time to leave Cam-Plex.  Remember that big ol’ rainstorm I mentioned earlier?  Well, it wasn’t the first to hit Gillette and so the ground wasn’t all that interested in absorbing water.  Many coaches found themselves unable to move, drive wheels sinking deeper and deeper into the mud.  Gillette doesn’t have a lot of tow trucks and folks were getting mighty frustrated to be unable to hit the road once the convention was over.   Randy and Lonna got towed out forward a short distance to the road but Russ and Janet had to be towed backward across a pretty wide stretch of mud.  We were fortunate and were able to get out under our own power and depart on schedule because we faced a long dull 13 mile drive to the next rally site in Rozet.

Rozet, population 25, more than doubled in size once the 3-T’s Chapter hit town.  We got settled in at All Seasons RV Park and proceeded to do what we do best….eat.  After noshing on goodies at Happy Hour, we carpooled to Rozet’s only restaurant, a bar and grill next to the post office.  They had opened just for us, it being Sunday,  and prepared a buffet of fried chicken and fish with vegetable sides and a brownie sundae for dessert.  The décor was Roadhouse Modern with cute signage and a jukebox featuring Brenda Lee and Ricky Nelson.  A time warp now and then is refreshing, especially as we get older and find today’s world a bit oppressive.

The rally only lasts two days which is all for the best because we eat too much.  It was a bright day, not too breezy, when we shared goodbye hugs with our fellow chow hounds and hit the road to Sheridan.  It would be our first visit to that small city and we had just four days to do it justice.

Our next stop was at Peter D’s RV Park in Sheridan, Wyoming.  We selected this campground because of favorable on-line reviews by other RVers and the owner’s obvious wry humor…his ad in The Trailer Life Directory declares that “Peter D’s RV Park has nutritional value…if you don’t stay there, Pete don’t eat”.  Upon arrival we were gifted with a bag of spinach fresh-picked from the garden in the middle of the campground and enough tourist information to keep us busy for several days.  Sheridan thinks of itself as cowboy territory and there is certainly plenty of wide open spaces all around it but it is also a bustling small city of 17,000+ with interesting non-franchise shops, nice restaurants and with the Big Horn Mountains as a back-drop.  It’s urbane without being urban.

Several different sources had insisted we pay a visit to Trail End, a state historic site, so we made that our very first stop in Sheridan.  This stunning Flemish-style home was built by a self-made cattle baron named William Kendrick who wandered up from Texas as a teenager and ended up as governor of the state and eventually a U.S. Senator.  Trail End sits on nearly four acres and affords a wonderful view of the Big Horns.  It was also a house ahead of its time and features elevators, a central vacuum system, a PBX system for in-house communications and other such amenities that were not generally available in the early 1900s when the house was built.

When we are in touring mode we seldom break for lunch but on this occasion we stopped by Kendrick Park for an ice cream cone and to watch the locals enjoying a day of warmth and sunshine.  The park features several wood sculptures such as this leaping fish; the sound of a chainsaw led us to the artist busily at work on another sculpture.  Folks were wading in Goose Creek, kids were catching minnows (or maybe tadpoles) and many of the tables and benches were occupied by people just enjoying the pleasant setting and nice weather.  Refreshed by our ice cream cones, we headed off to check out the downtown commercial area where we wandered in and out of interesting shops, including King’s Saddlery which supplies rope to those who know rope.  No self-respecting cowboy (or so we’ve been told) would venture out without a Don King rope on his saddle.  Like Rapid City, Sheridan boasts artwork on nearly every corner of downtown.  Most of the statuary makes sense for the area but this big boy, known as The Boss, seemed just a little out of place. 

Our final stop for the day was the Sheridan County Museum, housed in a brand-new log structure and featuring an interactive display which explains The Battle of the Rosebud.  There were several dioramas that were mind-blowing in their detail and artistry.  As proof, one boasted a blue ribbon from the state fair.  And there may be more ribbons in store – hiding behind white sheets is a soon-to-be-unveiled diorama of the Rosebud battle.  I have a hunch it will be a dandy.  The museum has a “front porch” which stretches the entire length of the building and affords a good view of the mountains.  In nice weather it would be a grand spot for an almost-outdoor reception.  In any weather it’s a grand place to ponder yonder.

One of the more interesting stories about Sheridan is it’s involvement in an attempt to secede from the state of Wyoming.  During the Great Depression every area seemed to be getting federal funds except the section from Yellowstone on the west to the Black Hills on the east, from Billings to the north to Buffalo on the south.  Petitions were signed and the state of Absaroka was born.  License plates were made, a Miss Absaroka was selected and a governor appointed himself to represent the new state.  The whole movement sort of petered out when the U.S. entered WWII and the Depression was eventually over.  What remains is a slight disagreement on how to pronounce the word Absaroka.  Some say ab-SORK-a and other say ab-suh-RO-ka.

Another must-see in the area is the Bradford Brinton Memorial and Museum in the nearby town of Big Horn.  To say that this museum is off the beaten path is to make an understatement – it’s a fair drive down a gravel road.  Mr. Brinton made his money in the farm implement industry (Case) and purchased the Quarter Circle A Ranch as a “gentleman’s ranch” in 1923, added acreage and buildings and ended up with an exquisite facility in which to house his collection of artwork.  Upon his death the house passed to his sister who in the terms of her will opened it to the public in the 1960s.  The art collection leans heavily on Frederick Remington’s magazine illustrations with a hefty dose of Charlie Russell thrown in.  A small collection of Native American beadwork, pottery and basketry is displayed in an out-building which also houses the admissions desk and a small gift shop.  The remainder of the display items are in the main house, hanging on walls or sitting on shelves in much the same way Brinton must have displayed them when he was “at home”.  There is also a sizeable collection of nudes, including a Picasso, which doesn’t quite fit with Brinton’s interest in Western art.  Except for one piece, these are displayed separately in the servants’ quarters.

The setting for the ranch is lovely.  Cottonwoods dating to the late 1800s shade the lawn area and on the day of our visit were distributing their cotton with a vengeance.  The resemblance to snow is disconcerting, especially when you can see the snow-capped Big Horns at the same time you are sniffing the peonies and roses.  This has to be one of the prettiest places on earth which may explain why Big Horn, Wyoming (population 490) sports some mighty regal residences, two polo clubs and once played host to Queen Elizabeth.  The town’s motto could be “Big bucks in Big Horns” but it isn’t.

We’d been warned that the Fort Phil Kearny State Historic Site was less than interesting….not much to see but plenty to imagine.  ‘Tis true but getting there afforded us the opportunity to see some of interesting terrain, hills and dales dotted with herds of beef cattle and horses, an occasional ranch house or barn.  If you want to know where the deer and the antelope play, this is the place.  We saw plenty of both.  Our final stop before heading back to Sheridan was at an overlook at the Fetterman Massacre Site.  Marked with a stone monolith, this is where Fetterman and his troops were set upon by a coalition of Plains tribes as they provided protection for a group of lumberman cutting wood for the soldiers stationed at Fort Phil Kearny.  This was considered to be the single most decisive Indian victory until they whomped up on  ol’ Yellow Hair at Little Big Horn.

And now it’s time to saddle up and move on to Cody and Yellowstone.

Springtime In The Rockies

As the temperatures began to climb, many of the plants, native and otherwise, of the desert began to bloom.  Except for a couple of old and fairly tired rose bushes, we don’t have any interesting plants in our yard but we have neighbors who do and so we got to enjoy the spring-time extravaganza without the hassle of ownership.  We aren’t yet familiar with the names of most of the plants, everything is still “a cactus” whether it is or not.  Here’s a photo of a neighbor’s cactus – the large white trumpet-shaped blooms only lasted a few days but were magnificent to see (and smell) for that brief period.  The next stage was vaguely pornographic and the final stage left the furry brown withered blossoms scattered about looking like so many dead mice.

This next photo is one Rochelle took with her camera phone (or is it a phone camera?).  Our best guess is that the tree is a Joshua (or at least some sort of yucca relative).  The flower stalks shot up almost overnight and then the heavy silk ivory flowers began to open, giving the entire plant the appearance of an ornate candelabra, something that might have once graced Liberace’s piano.

It wasn’t long before the thermometer was creeping up into triple digits and we decided to head uphill toward cooler weather.  Just the short drive to the Verde Valley found us enjoying considerably cooler weather.  The highlight of our stay was a visit to a not-yet-open-to-the-public museum, The Copper Art Museum in Clarkdale.  Our friend Pat arranged for us to tag along with the Anasazi Chapter for their tour of the museum and we are so grateful to have been included.  As best we can gather, the museum is the brainchild of one man and his daughter as a means of displaying a growing collection of objects made of copper.  He selected Clarkdale as the home for his museum because of the town’s beginnings as “a company town” for the United Verde Copper Company.  The old high school provides a wonderful space to display his ever-growing collection of copper items.  There is a sizeable display of spent artillery shells, embossed with all manner of artistic motifs, large architectural elements such as cornices and ceilings, statues both large and small, and a wonderful array of kitchen equipment including a lobster pot large enough to accommodate Moby Dick.  My favorite was a white porcelain stove with glowing copper knobs and handles; it made a person want to whip up a tasty meal or two.

According to the owner/curator/tour guide the museum is currently open for group tours by appointment and will be open to individuals on a regular basis by September.  For those visiting the mining town of Jerome, the museum will be a wonderful add-on to a day (or more)  of exploring Arizona’s copper mining history.  And Clarkdale itself is worth a look-see.  The town was built to the specifications set forth by William A. Clark who purchased the United Verde Mine in 1888.  He wanted his 7000 employees to live someplace less chock-a-block than Jerome and so Clarkdale was born.  The smelter which dominated the town had the capacity to produce 4.5 million pounds of copper monthly which made Mr. Clark an extremely rich man – he apparently had so many business holdings that he couldn’t  begin to name them all from memory.

Of course a stop in Albuquerque was required so I could resupply my stash of beads at one of my favorite shops, Bead Obsession.  They have a wonderful selection of delicas and Japanese seed beads and it’s so difficult to confine one’s purchases to just those colors needed for specific projects.  I spent lavishly and consider it a birthday present to myself.  Howie felt he deserved a treat, too, so on a bright clear day he took himself off to the Sandia Peak Tramway for the trip up the mountain.  The air quality was such that the overview of the city was a bit hazy and that’s probably the case most of the time.  Except for those of us with vertigo, the tram ride is a not-to-be-missed adventure.

While camped at Tijeras, Howie thought he recognized the folks moving into a site quite near us. He was so right.  We first met Betty and Bob (and their dog Belle) in Georgia back in 2009, spent a few days camping with them in western Pennsylvania later that same year and haven’t seen them since.  But we have kept in touch sporadically by email so knew they had abandoned plans to head to Alaska this summer and were heading “back East” to attend to some family matters.  We just never expected to bump into them in Tijeras!  Our visits to the area only over-lapped by one day but we took advantage of the unexpected meeting to drive north on The Turquoise Trail to the funky little towns of Madrid and Carillos where artisans peddle their wares from the front porches of old mining shacks.  Betty and Bob had never visited Tinkertown and so we made a stop there on our way home.  One of the featured displays at Tinkertown is the mechanical fortune-teller, Esmeralda, who once resided at Riverview Amusement Park in Chicago.  Betty had many childhood encounters with Esmeralda and her memories were not good ones.  As a child she found Esmeralda mean-looking and threatening.  Negative memories aside, Betty bought up all the Esmeralda-themed postcards to send to her siblings.  She couldn’t resist the temptation to say “Look who I found!”

Working our way northward, we decided to stop before climbing up to Raton Pass, not after.  We had rather low expectations for the town and had planned only one full day in the area.  It was a mistake not to have scheduled more time!  We had to skip several of the area’s attractions but we did have the opportunity to spend time at The Raton Museum which turned out to be an absolute gem.  The curator, Roger Sanchez, offered to give us a guided tour and we jumped at the chance – having a guide is always preferable because they have interesting tidbits which never make it to the storyboards.  Roger warned us that the tour would take an hour and a half.  And he wasn’t kidding.  But there can’t be any better way to spend that amount of time.  In addition to the area’s historical importance as a stop on the Santa Fe trail, as a railhead for the shipment of coal from nearby mines and some range war action, the museum has received some wonderful collections from private donors:  a collection of hatpins which are miniature works of art, a display of mechanical toys and a marvelous collection of dolls, including a Shirley Temple doll which has never been removed from its box.  Roger is justifiably proud of “his” museum and his enthusiasm is contagious. 

Except for Amtrak, the railroad now bypasses Raton (in favor of an easier flatter route) and the cars whiz by on the Interstate headed for bigger towns both north and south  but travelers who skip Raton are missing out on an opportunity to visit a bit of Americana that is fast disappearing. 

As we were preparing to leave Raton the next morning we couldn’t help but notice a stream of motorcycles exiting the Interstate.  We were hoping we weren’t going to get in their way.  And vice versa.  Once we started up the highway we began to see cars parked on over-passes or along the shoulders, everybody waving small American flags and we thought we’d found ourselves in the middle of a military funeral procession.  We were about halfway up the pass when a group of cycles passed us and they were followed by a van decked out in shrink-wrap advising this was the “Run To The Wall”, a caravan going from L.A. to Washington, D.C. paying homage to the nation’s military along the way.  A check of the Internet showed the bikers were taking several different routes across the country and we didn’t see any heavy concentrations of bikes after Trinidad, Colorado.  We hope they all had a safe journey.

We made a four-day stop in Greeley, Colorado.  The campground in Loveland where we had stayed previously had gotten some really bad reviews of late and so we opted for a different spot.  It was pretty awful, too, and we won’t stop there again.  Luckily, on short notice we were able to get together with Gary and Phyllis for lunch and a chit-chat before they had to head off to attend to various grandparent-y things.  Gary and Howie lived across the street from each other as kids back home in Indiana so there is always lots of catching up to do when they get together. 

Our next stop was Cheyenne where we tucked in for several days to avoid traveling over the Memorial Day weekend.  We had pretty much “done” Cheyenne on a previous visit so we took this opportunity to head west on I-80 to see a bit of Laramie.  We thought we had already toured all the territorial prisons still open to visitors but apparently not.  We’d missed Wyoming!  Shame on us.  Before reaching Laramie, the highway climbs to  8640’ where there is a rest area/museum/visitors center devoted to the subject of U.S. 30, the so-called Lincoln Highway. Believe it or not, the Lincoln Highway was a privately funded project.   I-80 and U.S. 30 share the roadway along this portion but you can still see where the old U.S. 30 reached its highest point when it was the only “highway” in the area.  It’s a lovely spot scented with pine, snow-capped mountains to the south, birds singing and still a nip in the air at that altitude.

 

Then we made the downhill run into Laramie and quickly located the Wyoming Territorial Prison Park.  We like to avail ourselves of guided tours, if available, but learned that we had missed the morning tour and that the afternoon tour was several hours off.  So we set off on our self-guided tour, poking our noses into the warden’s home which serves as the first tour stop.  It seemed quite luxurious for a frontier abode.  As soon as we entered the handsome cream and red stone building which was the main portion of the prison, we heard voices and realized we’d caught up with the tour group.  So we hurried along and made ourselves part of the pack.  There were a number of bad boys who graced the cells and their photos continue to glare down from the walls.  The most famous inmate was none other than Butch Cassidy and he was incarcerated there long before he became famous.  At that time he was nothing but a plain ol’ horse thief.  This photo was taken after he became famous; the Sundance Kid is on the far left and Butch is on the far right.  Nice looking young men, aren’t they?  They even look a little like Newman and Redford.

The prison was able to bring in a little spending money thanks to a broom-making factory on the premises.  The convicts were quite good at their craft and the prison supplied brooms to several companies on “the outside”.  The broom factory is still in operation but the brooms are now made by volunteers and sold in the prison’s gift shop for well above what you might expect to pay for a corn broom.  If I recall, the regulation-sized broom sells for $35, credit cards accepted.  There are several other buildings in the park, unrelated to the prison, including a church which was moved to Laramie from Rock Springs and the remains of a frontier-themed amusement park. 

Laramie is home to the University of Wyoming.  Graduation had already occurred and so the campus was pretty much deserted.  I’m not sure if this is the cowboy and bucking horse which appears on Wyoming license plates.  If it is, nobody is sure who the cowboy was but the horse’s name in Steamboat.  Wyoming is one state which has its priorities straight.

 

Our next stop was Gering, Nebraska for a look-see at Scotts Bluff National Historic Monument and the nearby Chimney Rock National Historic Site.  Our campground, owned by the city of Gering, was very nice with wide grassy spaces between parking pads, cable t.v. and wi-fi.  All the comforts of home, along with a fine view of the bluffs just to the west of us.  Several disturbing weather patterns were brewing and it was quite an experience watching the sunlight come and go on the bluffs, the clouds shifting and swirling.  According to The Weather Channel, tornadoes were possible to the north of Scottsbluff but we survived the night with just some screeching winds and jiggling about.  (I quickly added Dramamine to my shopping list!)  The weather reports indicated that afternoon storms were possible for the entire length of our stay so we got moving fairly early on Wednesday for a tour of Scotts Bluff NHS.  A short film at the visitors center gave us an overall view of the site, then we took off on the 1.8 mile drive to the top of the bluff.  We did a few short walking trails which afford panoramic views of Scottsbluff in one direction and Gering in the other.  Originally various Plains tribes used the river valley to get to their seasonal hunting grounds.  Then this area is where the Mormon, California and Oregon Trails converged, funneling the pioneers along the Platte River.  It later gained fame as a Pony Express route. 

Chimney Rock is a few miles east of Gering and is said to be the most recognizable rock formation along the Oregon Trail.  After miles and miles and more miles of flat and empty grassland, imagine spotting this unique monolith in the distance.  We watched a brief film, checked out the gift shop and admired the rock from the safety of our car…the U.S. Parks service did not chintz on the number of “Beware of rattlesnakes” signs – they were everywhere. It was much too cold for them to be out and about but why tempt fate.  There is something about Chimney Rock which reminds me of The Alamo…it’s what gets talked about but is actually dwarfed by its surroundings.

On our way back to Gering we made a quick stop at the North Platte Valley Historical Museum.  In addition to the museum proper, there’s a sod house and a log house on the property.  Talk about cramped quarters…the two-room log house was occupied by a man, his wife and their four sons.  But the space did boast this wonderful bathtub in the kitchen.  Running water was available, thanks to a hand pump in the kitchen sink, and could be heated by the kerosene heater on the tub.  I never thought to inquire how the tub got emptied once the weekly baths were done. 

We are about to launch into a trifecta of RV rallies so it may well be quite some time before we get around to making another posting. 

Adios Winter, Hello Spring

The season that passes for winter here in the Valley of the Sun has dissipated and spring has arrived with a vengeance so it’s nearly time to think about heading north with the rest of the flock of snowbirds.  Spring, as others may know it, doesn’t happen here – the air temperature goes right from “somewhat chilly” to “somewhat hot” with barely a glance at “comfy”.  A combination of warm temperatures and winter rainfall has produced a bumper crop of vegetation and a higher-than-normal count of allergens.  Even those who normally don’t suffer from hay fever-type complaints are sneezing their heads off and using up large quantities of Kleenex.  But even stuffy noses can distinguish the heady scent of citrus blossoms and runny eyes can appreciate the fabulously colored cacti blossoms which come and go almost before you know it.

And, being spring, the birds and bees are busy doing what birds and bees do.  The hummingbirds have apparently gone elsewhere and aren’t hanging around the feeders these days.  But they’ve been replaced by acrobatic Gila woodpeckers who hang their enormous bodies from the tendrils of the fake flowers on the feeders and gorge themselves with nectar, stabbing their jack hammer beaks into the small sipping spots and causing the sugar water to run out.  For a time the bees seem to have been attracted to the feeders, too, but they’ve also gone elsewhere.  There seems to be a rabbit hiding under every shrub and tree and quail constantly flush from nooks and crannies whenever we venture into the yard.  It’s a real pleasure to be able to sit out-of-doors in the evening without being bombarded by stinging, biting insects.  However, we have been advised to stay on the alert for scorpions but so far haven’t seen any.

The bookcase project undertaken by Russ and Howie for the “Arizona room” has been completed and the boxes and boxes of books have been unpacked.  The cases  reach nearly to the ceiling on either side of a large south-facing window  with a shorter section holding the two taller sections together.  That provides a nice shelf for plants and do-dads.  Before and after photos are included so that you can see what access to a well-stocked woodworking shop will do for a person.  Except for a nasty abrasion on a finger, thanks to a belt sander, Howie emerged from the project unscathed.  Ditto for Russ who knows enough, thanks to long experience, not to pet the belt sander.

We’ve had a fair amount of company over the past month or so.  It was good to see David and Shirley again when they ventured over to the West Valley for a quick visit.  It’s at least an hour’s drive from one side of the city to the other, with heavy traffic the norm, so we are all reluctant to make the trip and we are so happy they chose to “drop in” to see our new digs and visit a bit.  Gloria and Jerry finally escaped Iowa and have been tootling around in milder climes, landing out in Gold Canyon for a long stay, so they ventured over to spend a Saturday with us touring around town and just catching up on chit-chat. 

I wasn’t altogether certain how I’d feel about venturing back on the road in the motor home.  After all, we’ve been having big fun just hanging around in Geezer Gulch, participating in the wide variety of activities and entertainment.  We had planned to meet The Kinfolks in Casa Grande for a few days of reunioning and then head down to Tucson for an FMCA rally at Lazydays.  Being slightly out of practice, it took us a bit longer than usual to button up and get ready to roll (especially since everything we needed or wanted was not where it was needed or wanted) but eventually we got our act together sufficiently to hit the road.  Seeing Casa Grande RV Park again was a pleasant surprise; it has new owners and an excellent new manager so the unpleasant memory of our last visit was soon erased.  Physical improvements have been made as well but can’t compare with the improvement in attitude.  Our site was right next to Gail and Ruthee’s so we were able to handle happy hour(s) with no difficulty at all.

Ruthee had planned an outing for us  to St. Anthony’s Greek Orthodox Monastery near Florence so off we went to spend the day, car-pooling with Barney and Mary.  (We met them several years ago and hadn’t seen them since so it was great to be able to get together again).  Unfortunately our visit coincided with the first day of Lent on the Orthodox calendar and so most of the chapels were closed to visitors.  We were able to stroll the grounds and visit the interior of the largest chapel.  Church law requires visitors to be appropriately garbed which means long skirts and long sleeves and head scarves for the women and long pants and sleeves for the men (hats optional but suggested to ward off the desert sun) and, oddly enough, fully covered feet…no sandals.  The gift shop keeps a variety of shapeless skirts and tops on hand for those visitors who are not appropriately dressed.  We all looked like refugees who just stumbled off the boat at Ellis Island.   About forty monks live at the monastery where they raise olives and press their own oil.  We were told they also operate a bakery in town.  After strolling around the grounds and enjoying the serenity of the oasis we headed to Florence for lunch at Mt. Athos Restaurant.  It was Gail and Ruthee’s first experience with Greek food and they cleaned their plates.  We all did.

Barney had discovered the game of pickle ball while visiting Casa Grande and he was good enough to share his newly-acquired expertise.  What a fun game!  Yes, it’s a bit more athletic than we’re used to but certainly do-able for the older set.  Reminder to self – sign up for lessons next fall.  Because the doctor wasn’t able to cure my leg pain, it came as a big surprise to me that I could bounce around the court without hurting myself but apparently the starting and stopping is less of an issue than plain ol’ walking.  Now if we could only find a cure for the large invisible hole that develops in the middle of the paddle whenever the ball comes near.  Hand-eye coordination seems to be less good than it once was.

It’s not much of a drive from Casa Grande to Tucson so we dawdled with our departure and arrived at Lazydays shortly after noon, got settled into a large pull-through site and prepared to enjoy our vacation.  And enjoy it we did!  There were a number of folks from the Full Timers Chapter at the rally so we had a good turn-out at happy hour.  Lazydays has an on-site restaurant and they catered most of the meals for the rally and did a very fine job of it.  The chef and banquet manager got standing ovations from the appreciative campers.  In the evening we had entertainment in the rally building.  The first night was a delightful troupe of young mariachi musicians (I can’t remember the Spanish name but the translation is something like Little Ugly Monkeys), ranging in age from 13 to 16.  It was a shock that they’d only been performing together for seven months; they are so poised and professional.  The second evening found us listening (and dancing) to a country-western trio and the final performance was a jazz vocalist and her group.

More entertainment awaited us when we returned to Geezer Gulch.  The Recreation Association sponsored a night of Dancing With The (Rec Center) Stars.  The professional dancers in this case were a troupe from Utah and they were most enjoyable to watch.  The rec center folks…not so much.  But you have to give them an A for effort.  And chutzpah. 

We spent Easter with Russ and Rochelle, digging in to a ham dinner with two desserts including a lemon meringue pie made with fresh lemons from their very own tree.  After dinner we sat out on the patio and watched the multitude of birds coming and going.  The hummingbirds haven’t abandoned their yard just yet and one particularly aggressive little devil came and hovered right in my face.  It wasn’t a one shot deal, either, he kept coming back buzzing furiously.  Maybe he was attracted by my bright yellow shirt, or angry because I was too close to his feeder.  Or maybe he was just eyeballing my hair as a good place to build a nest. 

And now it’s time to begin developing our itinerary for the travel season.  We expect to see a great many of our favorite folks this summer and are really looking forward to it. 

The Valley of The Sun–Winter, 2013

Well, that was certainly an unpleasant shock!!  One day last week we drove to Florence to meet Rose and John for a tour of the Pinal County Historical Society Museum (one of our favorites); the weather was perfectly horrible for the trip, cold and damp with a pretty steady rain which left the desert a sheet of standing water.  It always surprises me to see saguaros sticking up out of a shallow lake.  If you’re used to the sort of soil which welcomes moisture and absorbs it instantly, the desert’s reaction is puzzling.  And by the time we walked into the museum, it was snowing.  Yes, snowing, and not just in the higher elevations.  By lunchtime the Superstition Mountains off in the distance were wearing a thick coating of snow and the drive home was a nasty reminder why we no longer spend winters in the snow belt.  I-10 was a slow-moving parking lot all the way across the greater Phoenix metro area thanks to a steady bombardment of snow, rain, hail, sleet – enough to cause accumulation on the pavement to the depth of several inches.  Shocked Phoenicians, even those in off-the-road vehicles, dropped their speed down to a stately 8 mph.  The lightening off to the west kept the radio crackling.  By the time we reached Glendale, the skies were clear, the sun was shining and a lovely rainbow arced across the sky over University of Phoenix Stadium.

Earlier in the winter we had several nights of freezing temperatures which caused a flurry of citrus picking.  The garage smells like the produce department at Safeway but we’ve been amazed at the shelf life of oranges and grapefruit.  Several of the oleanders suffered mightily from the frost and have been pruned back to mere nubbins in order to encourage new growth but the citrus trees seem to have come through the cold without major harm.  We discovered that the smallest of the orange trees is a Mineola, a tasty cross between a specific kind of grapefruit and a tangerine.  As tasty as fresh orange juice may be, Howie has discovered it a tiresome messy task to squeeze enough for the week.

We’ve been fortunate to have enjoyed plenty of company during the past two months.  Pat paid a return visit and was able to spend a couple of nights with us thanks to a neighbor who tends her two kitties while she’s away.  Art and Jo came up from Casa Grande while Pat was here and we had a mini Full Timers reunion over lunch.  Rose and John paid another quick visit before heading back to Louisiana to recharge their batteries for what promises to be a very busy summer for them.  David and Shirley are planning to venture over to the west side this weekend and we’re looking forward to seeing them again.  Now if we could only convince some of our other friends from the East Valley that they can come here without a visa or tetanus shots. 

Russ and Rochelle found a lovely house about two miles away and so we’ve swapped dinners and rousing games of Aggravation back and forth.  Russ has promised to help Howie build some bookcases for my collection of cookbooks.  Material has been chosen and as soon as a mutually satisfying date can be selected, work can begin.  Russ is eager to get his hands on the wonderful array of woodworking equipment in the shops at the rec center.  There will be photos of the project’s progress in future updates to this blog.

Howie involved himself in several lawn bowling tournaments.  If he cared to, he could bowl all day every day; there’s even an indoor area if the weather is inclement.  I had hoped to be likewise involved in that much beading but discovered that I enjoy the book discussion groups even more and so spend much of my time reading.  I’ve also joined something called the Lifelong Learning Group which presents classes and lectures on a wide variety of topics.  So far I’ve learned about the birds which congregate at the Hassayampa Wildlife Preserve, exercise as a means of warding off old age, the lifestyles and art of the Four Corners tribes with more topics to be addressed in the near future.  Oh, and there’s tai chi one day a week!  Doctor and dentist appointments have been woven in…they certainly can cut down on a person’s play time!

There’s plenty of entertainment right here so we don’t need to venture far.  This past Sunday was the 21st annual Sousa Concert given by the Sun City Concert Band, a hour of rompin’ stompin’ music and all for a free-will contribution.  The band has 100 members (give or take) with an average age of 77+ years.  They enjoy making music and there are plenty of us who enjoy listening to them make music so a good time is had by all.  We are also  looking forward to the resumption of Sun Bowl concerts in mid-March. 

You’ll notice a shortage of photos in this posting.  We wanted to post the movie of Rochelle lying on her back, feet placed firmly on a very large television set as the guys held it steady.  By pushing with one leg and then the other she maneuvered it out of the guest bedroom, down the hall and into the living room.  I wanted to include some photos,  but for some reason she was unwilling to share…and the movie is on her camera so she gets to choose.  Take my word for it, it was pretty funny.

February ended with enough belly laughs to last us until at least until the middle of May.  We attended a program at one of the rec centers which featured a ventriloquist named Patrick Murray and his flamboyant Jamaican sidekick, Matilda.  The show is called “Jamaican Me Laugh” and they really delivered the goods.  Our sides ached by the end of the performance.  Matilda is quite the diva and we hope you’ll have the opportunity to catch this act somewhere along the line.  In addition to cruises, they have appeared at many of the RV resorts in the Phoenix area so perhaps they’ll be coming to a venue near you soon.  Don’t miss the chance to see them.

Random Thoughts - 2012

Someone recently asked if we preferred living in a sticks and bricks house or in the coach.  Very difficult question.  Have not yet formed an answer.  There are a great many similarities (if something can go wrong, it will) and a great many differences.  Both abodes seem to need cleaning on a steady basis.  Meals need to be cooked and laundry done, repairs made.  However….

• Nowadays if I leave the refrigerator door open a little too long, it doesn’t start honking at me and shut itself off. 
• The mail forwarding service is on auto-pilot; we don’t have to request a new mailing address every week or so.
• Sunday mornings can be devoted to watching the news shows instead of running out to track down a newspaper which has the t.v. guide section for a city we won’t be in by Monday afternoon.
• One does not have to pick one from Column A and one from Column B (but no others) when using electrical appliances.  It seems luxurious to be able to microwave food, dry clothes and run the a/c all at the same time.  And it doesn’t take all day to dry a load of towels.
• Much time is devoted to wondering why a certain weight loss group meets at a local mortuary.
• Stay-abeds will not do well at estate sales.  The regular trollers are up and about early, scoring all the good stuff although there are real bargains to be had if items are overlooked until the final day.  The real winners are those who come very early or very late whereas middle-of-the-roaders are SOL. 
• We used to wonder how something could be so easily misplaced with only 400 square feet to be lost in.  Now there are so many rooms in which to misplace things.  And there’s always the possibility that whatever it is we’re looking for is still in the coach.
• It is considerably more difficult to remember to secure the premises when leaving for a period of time.  There’s something to be said for having only one door.
• Being able to cut a rose or two for the house is lovely.  “Real” roses smell so much nicer than the kind from the store.
• Living among large numbers of retired people makes me wonder why they drive so fast and shop so slow.  Or vice versa.
• Canned goods no longer shift around between meals.  We are unlikely to be concussed by a jar of Vlasic dills leaping from an upper cupboard.
• 55+ communities seem to have an unusual number of red Corvettes.

We seem to have leapt off the high-board and into the deep end of the activities pool.  With the possibility of lawn bowling seven days a week during most of the daylight hours, Howie has winnowed himself down to once or twice a day a mere three days a week.  But only if temperatures are fairly moderate, which they haven’t been lately.  He still prefers to stay snug a-bed until the sun has been up long enough to warm things past the frost point.  The two beading groups I’ve joined meet at the same time on the same day so I’ve had to make a choice.  The three book discussion groups fortunately meet at different times so I can indulge in all of them.  Having steady access to a library has really curtailed my book-buying addiction.  And we’ve jointly enjoyed meeting the RV Club members and indulging in their monthly potluck dinners.

And a number of friends have “dropped by”.  Pat R was in town to visit a friend who was passing through and found time to stop for a quick chat on her way back over the hill to the Verde Valley.  She comes to town frequently so we’re hoping to see her several times this winter.  John and Rose spent several days at a near-by RV park and we were able to show off some of Sun City’s amenities, including attendance at a potluck dinner with one of the bowling clubs. During their stay we trekked up to Wickenburg for a tour of the Desert Caballeros Western Museum, a combination of local history and Western art.  Wickenburg is in competition with Bandera, Texas as “Dude Ranch Capital of the World”.  The weather was somewhat unpleasant while Rose and John were here so it was a real treat when they showed up on our doorstep with a vat of chicken gumbo.  Rose swears that any sign of clouds means it’s time for gumbo.  And she’s right…it does ward off a chill.

Russ and Rochelle are spending the winter about 40 miles west of here and are in the process of house hunting in the neighborhood so we’ve seen them several times thus far.  This past weekend we drove out to spend the day with them and found ourselves in the midst of several FMCA chapters gathering for their annual New Year’s rally so we were able to touch base with some fellow Full Timers.  We’re all so busy, however, that it’s unlikely we’ll see them again until we meet in Sturgis in June.

The weather hasn’t been all that warm thus far.  It’s even a little on the clammy side.  I hadn’t expected to get so much use out of that ski jacket I bought in Denali!! 

Our little neighborhood seems to have an abundance of wildlife.  We’ve seen coyotes jogging down the street and one marched through our backyard at mid-day big as life.  And all this time we thought they were crepuscular.  An owl spends his mornings in an old pine tree right next door and does a lot of vocalizing about 5:00 a.m.  Gambrel quail, roadrunners and assorted other birds spend time in the shrubbery and the hummingbirds have been regular attendees at our feeder.  They are such peeping Toms, hovering in front of the windows to see what might be tasty inside.  My red slippers sitting in a patch of sunlight seemed to be especially attractive to them so now I’m careful to keep the slippers in the shadows so the little guys don’t knock themselves silly trying to get at them.

And so that wraps up another year.  We hope that it has been a good one for you and that the new one will be even better.  Happy New Year to you all.

Arizona Snowbirds–November, 2012

We arrived in the West Valley in mid-October and began the transition from life on the road to living in a sticks ‘n bricks home.  It took a solid week of shuffling “stuff” from one place to the other and involved more than one snafu.  Some folks can do this sort of thing gracefully; we do not number among them.  And by the time the coach was more or less empty, we could not believe how much “stuff” we had crammed into such a small space.  Our little “Welcome To Cram-a-Lot Inn” sign is more than appropriate than we thought.

Finding furniture was the first order of business.  We had ordered a bed prior to our departure last spring and it was waiting for our signal to be delivered.  Of course we hadn’t taken into consideration that a mattress and box spring might also be a good idea.  Having recently purchased a new mattress for the coach from J.C. Penney, we figured that the exact same mattress for the house would serve very nicely.  You might know that it was not in stock and could not be delivered until the day after we were scheduled to put the coach into storage.  Not to worry…when we arranged for the bed to be delivered, we had also purchased a sleep sofa for the guest bedroom so we would at least have a place to sleep once we vacated the coach completely.

One of us is a night owl and one of us isn’t so you can well imagine how thrilled we were to learn that the mattress had not been received on the expected date.  Trying to sleep in the same room with the t.v. and the computer was nearly impossible.  JCP could not tell us where the mattress was or when it would be delivered.  And they weren’t all that interested in solving our problem so we cancelled the order, vowing to never darken their doorway again,  and spent the better part of a day trying to find another mattress which was in stock and could be delivered sooner rather than later.  We got lucky and found a better mattress for less money, it was in stock, no additional charge for delivery and it would be at our doorstep that very evening.  We were so thrilled we purchased several other pieces of furniture just to make the salesman feel loved.  And just that quick the Arizona Room (known as a California room in California and a Florida room in Florida…we don’t know what they’re called in Wisconsin) had all the basic components of a real room and lacked only the little things such as lamps and wall hangings to be complete.

The West Valley, being the site of a number of 55+ communities, lives and breathes the world of estate, rummage, garage and patio sales.  Every intersection boasts a forest of signs pointing hither and yon directing the shopper to various meccas of used (and sometimes abused) household goods.  We located several bookcases, including a pair that can double as a china cabinet, and various other pits and pieces to fill in the blanks in the house.  Apparently there are protocols to estate and rummage sale shopping, such as discounted prices on the final day.  There seems to be no rhyme or reason to pricing, either.  Some items seem ridiculously high and others dirt cheap, quality or condition doesn’t appear to enter into the pricing strategy.  Our proudest acquisition to date is a 7’ tall bookcase which we brought home in the Saturn  (now referred to as “The Truck”).

As soon as we had more or less feathered the nest enough for comfort, we set about making ourselves part of the community.  After all, we purchased here because of the wide variety of activities afforded to residents.  One of the first orders of business was to get our library cards and within days I was attending a book discussion group.  It turned out to be a bright, articulate and opinionated bunch and I’m looking forward to participating in future discussions.  Finding the craft group that includes beading came next.  Within hours I’d joined two different groups, each meeting at a different rec center but at the same times.  It would be helpful to have a split personality….and my own car or golf cart.  After his very first outing to lawn bowling, Howie came home proudly showing off a set of bowls he’d just purchased.  How could he pass them up?  They are decorated with little red Jaguars.  He’s been going twice a day twice a week to get back into shape after an entire summer of not being able to bowl.

And, as a couple, we joined the RV group.  As expected, they are the most out-going and gregarious of the groups we’ve met thus far.  They have some caravans and rallies planned over the next few months but we’re unlikely to participate in anything except the day trips.  Just the thought of loading things back into the coach this soon gives me a sick headache.   Yesterday we attended the club’s potluck dinner.   After the meal, a local celebrity named Mike Chamberlin entertained us with songs and stories.  It was a pleasant, comfortable evening as are most times spent in the company of fellow RVers.

I’m looking forward to getting involved with the gardening club.  Knowing next to nothing about things that grow in the desert, I want to get up to speed so we can tend our citrus grove properly.  The grapefruit tree is loaded and the fruit is ripening quickly.  The oranges are much further behind, being barely beyond bright green.  The lemon tree, if that’s what it is, has no fruit at all.  I’m pretty sure the discolored foliage on the rose bushes is not due to black spot.  Maybe it’s sunburn, maybe something else.  Whatever it is, it’s not attractive and needs to be corrected.  But so far the only thing I know about xeriscaping is that you don’t pet the cactus.  Just because some of them look soft and fuzzy, it doesn’t mean they are.

Perhaps you’ve noticed there are no photos in this posting.  Maybe next time.  Life on solid ground is different from life on wheels.  To keep in practice for when we hit the road again, I’ve taken to stacking things awkwardly in the cupboards so they tumble out as soon as the door is opened.  That way we won’t lose our instinct to keep one arm raised to ward off falling cans of pork and beans.

P.S.  Did you know that household refrigerators do not beep if you leave the door open too long.  And you can use the dryer, the microwave and the air conditioner all at the same time without popping a breaker.  So many things to re-learn!