Gundyville On Wheels

Full Of Hot Air!

2012-01-21T14:31:00.005-05:00

Let's start this post a little differently than usual- with a shout out to my "90 sumpin" year old mother who went out this last week and bought herself a new laptop and wireless router so she could stay on top of the cyber happenings in her life. How cool is that! Way to go mamacita!

Actually, I was gonna bring her up regardless because I borrowed the title of this post from her. Well, maybe not directly, but at least indirectly as she has been known to use a number of "sayings" throughout her life as it relates to her children- not the least of which is, in response to something I may have offered into evidence at one point or another....."Oh, you're so full of hot air!"

No claim on my part that that led me to be intrigued by hot air balloons, but I can't rule it out...and it works for this story, so it is what it is. My bucket list (and Marilyn's as well) has always included being able to attend the big balloon festival in Albuquerque, NM in the fall of each year. While we haven't made the "big one" yet, we sure got a terrific introduction to ballooning by traveling up to Lake Havasu City, Arizona for their version of the balloon festival- about 60 balloons instead of hundreds, but impressive and kind of awesome none-the-less. We caravan-ed the hour and a half journey with some of the Brenda Gang which added even more to the adventure of the day. It is good to have a support group any time it is necessary to get up in the dark at 5 in the AM and head out by 6. Yuk. But it had to be in order to arrive in time for the flyover and mass ascension of the balloons that was set to start just before 8 o'clock. And so it was....

We have seens balloons drifting over before, usually in Florida where they float high above and drift effortlessly across the blue heavens. A pretty sight, but tranquil. No sense of excitement and anticipation and marvelous adventure that comes from standing close enough to touch them as they are inflated with air, then heated to vertical, before lifting off the ground right beside where you are standing taking a picture. No ropes to stay behind. This is not like staying 7 miles back to watch the space shuttle go up. This is the here and now, the present and accounted for, the hands on ( hand me that line, will ya?), this is happening and YOU ARE THERE that Walter Cronkite used to deliver on the news so long ago. (If you are embarrassingly young, you can Google Cronkite - see if I care)

The sights and sounds of the day- or maybe the lack of sounds of the day, made for spending some fascinating time, and there is a lengthy slide show for sharing. The dueling cameras of Greg and Marilyn were firing repeatedly and this is what's left after we weeded out the few shots that we could stand to delete, albeit difficult. Perhaps the best experience of the day for us was walking into the massive balloon that was resting on its side - fans blowing air in to inflate it, so that folks could walk into the balloon and get a feel for the size and magnificence of the hot air container. Surely upon seeing the images of her now aging son actually in the middle of a hot air balloon, she will come to the realization, if she hadn't already done so, that, at least on occasions, the old boy IS "full of hot air." Just sayin'.

And for those of you wondering what on earth we have been up to during our most recent extended silence- we have been building a kayak rack and a "stand-up" garden box for growing some vegetables out of reach of the dad-gum rabbits but well within the reach of my sometimes sore back. Both are heavy duty and starting to go into service now, although not 100% completed at this point.

Pink Dice and Jambalaya

2012-01-01T19:12:00.003-05:00

The ham and bean pot from Christmas day was converted into a gigantic pot of jambalaya for the New Year's Day celebration in the "big tent." We had a full house and Chefs Lynn and Jude did not disappoint with what I easily rate as the best jambalaya I have ever had anywhere. Even though we had a full house, there will be left overs and Happy Tuesday has been moved up to Happy Monday to accommodate both the leftovers and the funny goings on with the Rose Bowl parade and game this year. Hey! Any excuse for a party! Marilyn rallied and enjoyed the festivities for several hours and then we came home for her cold-drug induced nap necessities. It was a lovely meal with good friends who love only one thing more than a good meal- a good laugh.

And to that end Fran and Barlow put on their twin Michigander shirts and got out the pink pool noodle to beat up some interest in a game of chance called Flip Flop (some call it "Shut the Box"), a high stakes game (it costs a quarter a round to play) where-in you throw the pink dice and tip the numbers over until you can't roll any further. Winner takes all. No one cheats, but only because everyone else has eagle eyes on the player in turn, and also because if she suspects you might cheat, Marlene will come and sit next to you. That girl cracks me up!

The still shot is of the kettle of jambalaya stock bubbling away mid tent. As the precise time before 2 PM dinner bell, the rice and then the shrimp were added. The first bowl was dipped precisely on time....

Perfection in a pot. In a tent. In the desert. Happy New Year!

A December To Remember?

2012-01-01T12:29:00.003-05:00

When we pulled into Arizona the end of the first week in December, we had a long list of things to accomplish in short order, and a powerful hankering to have some fun in the form of cookouts, trail rides, exploring new areas, and checking out the world's largest flea market- Quartzsite.

I was also looking forward to getting back to some reasonably responsible and regular posting -which I haven't been very good about recently. There was some rain the first few days in camp. Not the norm for here, but when all was said and done a double rainbow appeared and gave promise to a December to remember.

We quickly set out to accomplish our top priority- running a new water line and hooking up to a big water softener we dragged across the country with us. Trenches were dug, pipe was stuck, connections were made....and sure enough the system worked and made soft water of the well water here which is among the hardest in the world and is full of particulate that make it quite nasty without adequate treatment. This was a good start. Everything was right on schedule!

But about as soon as we wrapped up that project, I came down with an awful cough. Long and disgusting story made short- I went to see a doc in town and found out I had acute bronchitis. Steroid shots, a regimen of pills and some serious cough suppressant helped some but the problem still lingers. Marilyn fought off a cold of her own, but eventually succumbed to what in camp we are collectively calling "The Crud." We have it, but we are not alone! The misery index of the physical symptoms stayed with us and limited our ability to accomplish much else if anything all month. But it was still an interesting and special time. For starters, an illness of this nature is a much better experience in the west then it is, say, in the north east. You might be all congested and snotty and hacking away, but at least you can do it sitting outside in light weight clothing with the sunshine beating down on your face. You may not feel all that great, but there is at least something comforting about the circumstances....and there is no chance that when you breathe in or "blow out" that your fluids are gonna freeze on the spot, on your chin, your mustache or beard, whatever. It is A COLD, but it is in THE WARM. Something to be said for that!

One afternoon when we were sucking on cough drops and drinking Gatorade and drifting off on a mid-day nap, who should appear in their miniature sleigh, but Dandy Don and the Lovely Lady J- our dear friends and former neighbors from the Island of Roatan off the coast of Honduras. Never in a million years would we have anticipated a Christmas visitation from them, and it lifted our spirits and made an otherwise reasonably depressing day a very uplifting a special day to be sure. They were just "passing through the neighborhood" on the way to Phoenix, so it was short visit but one of the best ever surprises.

Over in the Happy Tuesday and Merry Christmas tent, the Brenda-blenda, Lynn, turned his focus from fresh squeezed lemonade drinks to ham and bean holiday soup. It was one awesome pot of viddles and we ate on it for the next three days. Our appetites have been seriously diminished by cold remedies, and our taste buds have been hampered by the same, but this was gooooood!

We stayed in the game through Christmas, but last night when it came to staying up to midnight for snacks and a New Year's toast with the gang, we totally crapped out. Our bad! Hopefully we can rally to help with the big pot of jambalaya for New Year's day. As far as the long list of Honey Do's- nothing, or at least not much got done. No energy. Not yet. Maybe soon? I did pick up some materials so if I can ever get to feeling like being active again, I'm ready.

Meanwhile the gang rides in and out of camp on long and exciting rides and all we can do is wave bye bye. That's gotta stop too!

In the past, I've always made a year end review and written it up with some stats and some recollections and some opinions and maybe a few conclusions about life in general. But this year? Consider yourself "spared...."

Until we feel better and have something to write about: Happy New Year Everyone!

Coming Into Arizona

2011-12-05T17:42:00.004-05:00

Cold or not, we crawled outta bed early and cranked the old air compressor to bring the tires up to a safe pressure from their somewhat reduced pressure of the cold night air before the first rays of the sun could mess with my readings. It's not a fun task especially on a cross country run, but it's gotta be done in order to be safe! We were rewarded with the glory of the desert being caressed by the early morning light as we came down off the plateau from New Mexico and into the Arizona flats. It is always breathtaking and once you have seen it, you hold it in your mind's eye the whole trip...and are never disappointed by the first acquaintance glimpse of it.

We made a stop at perhaps our favorite roadside rest stop in America at Texas Canyon. It's in Arizona, not Texas- maybe just to add some interest- not that it needs more than it has. The photos from the stop are inadequate to show what you are about to behold as you enter the canyon which follows... enormous boulders perched delicately and seemingly unsafely atop each other high atop the cliffs on either side of the canyon. You will wonder how they got there; but you will wonder much harder at how they stay there year after year, century after century. If you pass this way, keep your camera at the ready as the scenery just gets better and better. There are small pull-offs a few places, not suitable for us when we are on a mission: tomorrow is Happy Tuesday!

We pulled into Casa Grande for the last night on the road. Tomorrow, without unforeseen problems, we shall be delivered to Brenda and Desert Gold RV - our home for the winter where we share the time with dear friends, from all over the country, but many if not most of whom share our love for not only the desert but also Alaska. So it may not be home, but it always feels like home with their company.

I wanted to go back, if I may, to the trek through Texas. I neglected to say that we had seen wolves on this trip. Not dogs. Not coyotes. Wolves. Three of them. All dead. One grey. One typically mottled, and one pure white. All three were enormous, and the white one was reminiscent to me of the white buffalo I saw in South Dakota. Sorry they were dead by the side of the road, all in proximity to the other so no doubt it was a pack that got careless and stayed by the road too long for their own good. It was not a place where pulling over to take a picture was an option...and sorry I am about that, but thought I should go back at least to mention the occasion.

Casa Grande is crawling with quail and jack rabbits like below. These are small in comparison to the sizes they can reach, and in fact we had seen one of those large ones (muy grande) dead on the road as well. That one was so big I was checking for antlers as though it were a deer until we realized what it was.

Without jinxing myself (he knocked on wood), I can tell you it has been a marvelous crossing to date, and if that luck holds up, we'll be in camp by mid-day tomorrow- two days ahead of schedule!!!

Swamp Goodies

2011-11-30T22:01:00.004-05:00

Back in the Atchafalaya Swamp- on one of our favorite pieces of road in the country. Stopped for the night at one of our regular haunts- Frenchman's Wilderness, pretty much right in the middle of the swamp. We unhitched the tow-able chuck wagon and headed off to Pat's for an all cajun meal on the bayou just beside the levee. In order to fit this in, we had to do an early dinner, so we had the place entirely to ourselves. Tried a bunch of cajun classics and a few things we'd never had before- all very interesting. Cajun or not, we added a generous portion of Pat's local made hot sauce. Whew! Good! Think of it as Happy Tuesday - a day late!

Georgia Color and Then Some

2011-11-30T21:09:00.003-05:00

It's no secret we were in Georgia for quite a bit over the last few months doing the prospecting thing at Loud Mine. We did find some gold- not enough to write home about (or blog about for that matter) but it was a really good time with a bunch of good people and we enjoyed our time there. Gold. They call it "color." But COLOR and the Fall makes you think of driving through New England to watch the leaves on all the trees turn color. But New England has no corner on the market for Fall Color so I though it appropriate to use this post to show you some of the "color" that Georgia has to offer. Gonna break this down into two sections- leaves and .....hogs. Hogs? Yea. It seems that Georgia has a whole hog BBQ competition every year and we took that all in....right after we drove around in the mountains to see the leaves turn gorgeous colors. Perfect bbq has a color all its own, a fragrance, an air that wafts in the smoke and makes the appetite come on strong. With all the smells and images, this was a great event, complete with our getting to meet world famous bbq chef Myron Nixon (you'll no doubt recognize him from the slide shows especially if you watch GRILLMASTERS competitions on the Cooking Channel.

Here then the images from Fall and the Pig Jig- Georgia style!

If She Hasn't Already...

2011-11-29T22:55:00.004-05:00

To be clear... I posted this photograph and NOT Marilyn- although it sure seems inspired by the sisterhood safari to South Africa and Botswana. And furthermore, the subject of the photograph is NOT Marilyn nor anyone in her party on the safari. In fact, it was a recent contest winner of a photo/caption competition:

"If She hasn't.....she will soon!"

Enlarge and study the photograph by clicking on it. It deserves to be the winner!

OUT OF AFRICA- last in a series by Marilyn

2011-11-29T16:49:00.006-05:00

This is my last post on Africa. There are so many more thoughts and stories I would like to record to help me always remember this most wonderful adventure with my sisters. Because I am not a writer with my technical skills dismal at best, and with a mantra of "I'll do it tomorrow," when faced with any computer task I have stretched out this project much longer than originally planned. Greg who enjoys writing his posts has been very patient ,but
is getting itchy fingers and it is time to return the keyboard to his control.

The ranger was as excited as we were when he spotted the tracks . There are very few cheetahs in the preserve and are seen once in every three to four months. We were lucky enough to spend a couple of hours observing this graceful cat.

A cheetah climbs trees only to look around, checking out the grasses for prey and enemies.

The cheetah's body is designed for speed and has a very small head.

We watched this cat just dissapear into the wheat colored grasses of the savannah.

This slide shows some of the other sightings the last two days.

Mokoro by Marilyn

2011-10-22T12:06:00.005-05:00

A mokoro is a dugout canoe used by the natives of Botswana for centuries. The Okavango Delta is over six thousand square miles of waterways, lagoons, small islands and papyrus swamps making a systems of roads not possible. The mokoro was the only means of transportation linking village to village. The canoes were traditionally handmade from select African hardwood, but the ones used on our outing are exact replicas made of fiberglass due to environmental concerns and regulations.

I felt relaxed and enjoyed silently reflecting on the adventure so far. It felt good to take the time to examine the little things as we quietly glided among the reeds into the scattered open patches of clear shallow water. A small green frog clinging to a papyrus stalk, a school of fish parting quickly as we effortlessly slipped through and a dragon fly hovering over a perfectly formed water lily held my attention as intensely as the lions had earlier in the day.

Buffalo for Breakfast by Marilyn

2011-10-21T09:32:00.003-05:00

It was a gamble, but we felt the odds were in our favor and were betting the lions seen the previous night would be feeding at the carcass of the cape buffalo. The ride was long, made even longer by twice getting stuck in the thick mud. We were not disappointed!

What follows is a slide show filmed at the distance of about 15 FEET!!

The Nightlife of Botswana...by Marilyn

2011-10-20T13:32:00.007-05:00

Due to extensive flooding our small plane was diverted to an alternate air strip changing our original fifteen minute jeep ride to over two hours before reaching our next camp. We decided to head directly to the resort after a brief sun downer and would arrive quite late for dinner. Darkness fell and even the millions of unfamiliar stars shining so brightly in the southern sky could not illuminate the land around us. We continued on , crossing poorly constructed, half submerged log bridges and bullied our way through the thick muddy expanses on either side of the water crossings. It was slow going as we cautiously worked our way through the thick bush on narrow rutted roads traveled more by animals than vehicles.

After a call came from another ranger reporting activity at the site of a downed cape buffalo we abandoned our original plan and took a detour to check out the action. It was so tight we needed to lean to the middle of the jeep to keep from being badly scratched by the thorny acacia bushes scraping all around us. We could not see the dead buffalo, but, we knew we were close and followed our noses. We were down wind and the odor of a fifteen hundred pound cape buffalo dead for five days rotting in the bush was stomach turning. We just couldn't escape this horrible, horrible stench. After hit or miss exploring around the clumps of bushes we came upon the site and were greeted by two male spotted hyenas, larger and heavier than I imagined, standing tall and broad protecting the carcass. We were so engrossed watching the two of them taking turns eating and patrolling the area we failed at first to notice the leopard laying a short distance from the kill waiting patiently for a chance to sneak in and grab a piece of meat. A leopard is no match for a pair of hyenas and it had to be content to grab what it could. We were about forty feet from the kill and watched spellbound feeling very fortunate to have such an experience.

Time was passing and we knew we needed to move on. We would arrive much later than expected and we took one last look and prepared to depart. Unfortunately in the darkness the ranger miscalculated and jammed a downed tree under our jeep. We were stuck. We were stuck at night with two huge hyenas and a hungry leopard forty feet away and no amount of horse power or four wheel drive could move us. We were "dead in our tracks", words I never wanted to hear while on Safari! While our ranger was thinking about Plan B, the other ranger was still close by, heard our tires spinning and returned to help. He parked between our jeep and the kill, close enough so Julie, Bett and I could quickly and quietly climb aboard then repositioned his jeep even closer to the kill in order to provide more space for our guide to jack up the vehicle and drag the tree trunks out of the way.

We were all watching. We needed to keep track of the three animals especially the leopard and constantly scanned the grasses for any sign of movement. Being on the ground is much more dangerous than being in the jeep and we had three men on the ground! We now had a level of apprehension and concern layered over the level of excitement and awe. I admit I was nervous. Adrenaline was criss-crossing haphazardly through my body and my mind was playing the "what if" game. What if more hyenas appear? What if the pride of lions that probably took down this beast returns to claim the prize? Could there be a food frenzy free for all and we are stuck in the middle with three men on the ground?

We were finally freed and the three of us crawled back into our jeep to continue to the road on a more direct path through the tall grass. We traveled less than one hundred yards and we saw them. We didn't stop. We didn't even slow down. We were tired, stressed, cold and hungry and had enough adventure for one day. But, there they were, hiding in the grass facing the location of the carcass, at least twelve lions just waiting and watching.

Most of the pictures did not turn out. The red glow is from the filter placed over the spot light to keep the animals calm and to protect their eyes. We all shut off the flash settings on our cameras because we didn't want to draw attention to ourselves. The hyenas moved constantly and are reddish blurs on all of the pictures.

This shows how close we were to the action!
The rangers needed to jack up all four wheels before the jeep was freed.
A few of the lions in the pride watching us.

Giraffes (by Marilyn)

2011-10-19T13:03:00.004-05:00

It was our last morning in South Africa and we opted to set out earlier than usual to get one last game drive in before starting our trip to Botswana at eleven o'clock. The air was still and "see your breath cold" and we quickly bundled up in the wool blankets provided for the ride as we settled into our favorite seats in the jeep, our much appreciated hot water bottles balanced on our laps. It was still dark, approaching grey, as the day impatiently nudged the night to give up its darkness, It was time and the red African sun lay waiting barely below the horizon. It was quiet. The birds were just beginning to think about starting their own routines and not much rustled in the grasses. The day began as expected with the sunrise as breathtaking as the previous night's sunset. I secretly wished time to stay still for just a few minutes to prolong the vibrant colors of the morning sun before it would rise too soon into a warming, but not as impressive bright spot in a cloudless blue sky. It was so perfect I hoped to savor the experience as long as possible.

All seemed quiet. The watering hole was unused and still no sign of activity in the bush until we came across a large herd of giraffes. Our road cut through the middle of the herd giving us a 360 degree view. We watch fascinated as each giraffe unfurled its lanky legs to rise awkwardly from its night time resting position to resume its lofty stance, head high in the trees enjoying the bird's eye view of the savannah.

Just waking up. A slow amble. Heading towards the acacia trees to begin the day long browsing. A giraffe needs very little sleep, as little as twenty minutes to two hours a night and needs to spend all day nibbling in order to eat the seventy pounds of leaves needed to sustain it. Because a giraffe will chew its food, swallow for processing, regurgitate the semi digested cud, chew and repeat the process several times for each mouthful so that every bit of moisture and nutrition is digested. The mouth of the giraffe is very tough to protect it from the sharp thorns of its favorite food, the acacia tree, and its eighteen to twenty inch tongue is black to protect from sunburn.
The acacia tree has a built in defense system to prevent over browsing. If too many leaves are removed from the tree, extra tanin is produced making the leaves bitter. The giraffes will move on to other trees until the leaves have regrown and the tannin levels are back to normal.

The most gentle looking face on the savannah. Hard to remember its kick can break the skull or back of a full grown male lion.

Other sightings of the morning in the following slide show. We would be sleeping in Botswana that night!

Harassing The Wildlife

2011-09-25T16:50:00.004-05:00

"Harassing the Wildlife" was the charge printed on the arrest warrant that had me headed to jail in Cleveland, Georgia. I had always heard that the law was tough in these here parts...and now I know it to be true!

"You got it all wrong, Sheriff! I'm innocent. I swear..." (well occasionally, anyhow, but not around my mother who would wash my mouth out with soap for sure).

"Hear me out!"

There I was. Minding my own business and that of the 60 or so high-bankers that my partner, Orange Larry and I were "crewing" for at the Fall outing at Loud Mine under the auspices of Lost Dutchman's Mining Association and the Gold Prospector's Association of America at their gold camp in Cleveland, Georgia. We had our first "shift" of thirty or so workers up and running six machines quite nicely. The water was flowing perfectly through the sluices. The rate at which we were shoveling material into the hoppers was just about perfect. We were telling stories, giving pointers and laughing and learning together- exactly what these outings are set up to accomplish. So when that first flock of geese flew over the settling pond headed right for us out of the early morning fog, I called their attention to my "team" and put my shovel, yes, my shovel up to my shoulder as though getting ready to shoot a shot gun just as they got close and were sure to fly over......low! I'll never forget that beautiful new bright orange shirt I was wearing so those assigned to the shift could pick me out in a hurry if they needed any help with any matters having to do with running a high-banker. I took careful aim with the handle of my yellow-handled #2 spade and..... Bang. Bang. Bang! Of course we are hunting for gold- not geese and so the flock kept on coming- right at me. It was a thing of beauty. A magical moment....

But as the geese flew over, the lead goose took a shot or two of his own, and with all the high-bank shift watching, he scored a direct hit on the back of my hand. Splat! I had been hit! Bombed. Wounded! Publicly humiliated in front of all my charges. I laughed with them. EEEwwww! And as to minimize matters I removed my hat and checked it for "further damage." It was clean. I had not been "hit" on the head, which I have always heard is a goose's (and a sea gulls') favorite target. I turned to the crowd. I declared, "Never fear" he missed my new hat!" I washed my hand under the waterfall at the end of the nearest power sluice and went back to work! That was fun.

But a few minutes later I again heard the tell tale honking of a second flock of geese on exactly the same flight path. Not again. The chances of getting dive bombed twice by a flock of geese has to be way less that the chances of lightening striking twice, so again I called to my comrades, raised my shovel to my shoulder and readied to "fire." Bang. Bang. Bang! I turned back to crew. I laughed. They laughed. And then pointed out that I had been hit yet again... and this time right smack dab mid chest on my beautiful, new, perfectly clean, bright if not fluorescent, orange shirt. A direct hit.

Now running a high banker is fun in its own right. But running one with a big group of friends while you have an ongoing series of "live entertainments" is even better. We all laughed so hard it actually became difficult to shovel there for a moment in time. And within minutes of the end of the first shift of the day, most of the camp had "heard tell" of the goose hunt that went wrong at the far end of the settling pond.

Some things you do in this life are simply not worth denying. The truth will out! And so I told my second shift what had happened earlier and they too had a good laugh with me as we set about to find some Georgia gold.

I reported for breakfast and morning meetings at 7 AM the following morning with the rest of the crew members. There was a warrant for my arrest waiting for me! Not a real one from a real sheriff, but one from the club's sheriff who, upon the filing of an arrest warrant by another member gets the perpetrator "locked up" in the camp jail until you can raise whatever bail has been set. This is a fund raiser for the local camp so everyone plays along. Three dollars may not sound like a lot of money to raise for bail on a charge of "Harassing The Wildlife", but trying to raise it before first light when no one is yet up and moving about is no easy matter. There for a while it looked like I would have to apply for "work release" so I could run my morning shift, but eventually even our sheriff had a soft heart and coughed up the last two bucks to "spring" me. Good old boy!

Those of you who are followers of our adventures via these posts may well remember that back in 2009 when we spent a season working at Chicken Gold Camp in Chicken, Alaska, I actually ran a contest to try to come up with a "gold" nickname to put on my engraved GPAA name badge. We had hundreds of "entries" but none powerful enough to stick. That is to say until now.

My full name is Gregory Samuel (as in my father's first name) Gundy. That would be G.S. Gundy. So some made the leap to "Goose" for my new nickname and some took it one step further, assigning names to both initials as in Goose Sh-- Gundy, which I suppose is no worse than the suggestion made by my dear wife back in 2009- that would be "dirt bag," which she still calls me, affectionately of course, to this day on occasion.

Now if the story ended there, I suppose the ending could be part comedy, part tragedy. Oh, but it didn't. Because you see at our outings we have a category drawing called "The Redemption Drawing." All persons who are incarcerated for whatever reason and who go to the Loud Jail to pay their debt to the society of gold miners in attendance at the outing are therefore entered in the redemption drawing for a gold nugget. And on this occasion, and as if I had not already had a wonderful time with old and new friends alike- my name was picked out of the gold pan and I won the redemption nugget- which looked very much, for lack of a better description, like a corn flake!

When asked to stand before the crowd gathered for closing ceremonies and explain what I had learned from my time imprisoned, I retold the story and then explained what I believe to be the MORAL OF THE STORY:

To Wit- Sometimes if you are just willing to put up with a little "crap" now and then, so long as you keep laughing, good things will always come of it!

What follows is a slide show of the pictures I had time to take while not running the high banking shifts and/or goose hunting with a shovel. I must have had a few moisture problems keeping my camera on the quad through the rain showers and I had a few pictures just not usable- so apologies if I pointed the camera at you during the outing and you do not appear in the slide show.

A final comment...no wildlife was actually harmed during the filming of this slide show! And furthermore, no wildlife, stream habitat, or negative environmental impact is ever made by responsible recreational miners. We leave our camps cleaner than we find them. We remove hazards, trash and even mercury from any streams we work in. Fish are downright happy to play in the water even right where we may be working to see what we might stir up that they would like to munch on. As our founder George "Buzzard" Massey, always reminds us- If you have it, and you didn't grow it- you ought to thank a miner for it!

Maybe they'll drop that "S" part and I can just be Greg "Goose" Gundy. I'm cool with that!

Last Day In Madikwe...by Marilyn

2011-08-28T20:29:00.013-05:00

Our last full day in Madikwe is one of my favorite memories. It was the day we celebrated Julie's birthday. When we first arrived at the lodge I mentioned her birthday and hoped they would be able to make a cake to celebrate the occasion, but it turned out to be way more than expected!

It was an exciting day with very active game drives, tracking animals off road, and a flat tire at last light right before our festive sun-downer in the bush. We were looking forward to dinner being served outdoors under the southern skies and were surprised when the staff entertained us with traditional songs and dance.. It was the perfect ending to a perfect day, especially when the chorus started chanting " Happy Birthday, Julie" and escorted her to join them for a celebration dance. A birthday cake was presented and a good time was had by all.

Some of the sights from the day (slide show follows):

Rhino

2011-08-09T10:14:00.010-05:00

The call came over the private channel on the radio that a large rhino was spotted in the area and I carefully scanned the fields and bush in the distance not wanting to miss seeing it, thinking we would have only a glimpse at best because of the distance we would need to maintain for safety concerns. The rhino is one of the most dangerous and unpredictable animals to encounter and belongs, along with the lion, leopard, elephant and cape buffalo in the Big Five. Safari hunters prized this exclusive group because of the extreme danger associated with the hunt.

As the jeep turned a bend in the road, I saw it. Right there. Close up. On my side, with only forty feet and a piece of metal separating us. My first impression was how close we were and how huge a rhino is. The ranger assured us that this was a very relaxed animal so we stopped to observe as it grazed.

When we approached, the rhino lifted his head, listened and sniffed the air. Having an excellent sense of hearing and smell compensates for the extremely poor sense of sight. A rhino will charge blindly at thirty miles per hour if startled or aggravated.
This rhino is gray in color, but is called a white rhino - it's name derived from the Dutch word "weit" meaning wide in reference to it's wide, square muzzle with a mouth adapted for grazing, cropping short the grasses on the plains where it lives in small herds of less than a dozen.
Even though there are bushes available, the white rhino can not nibble on them because of the mouth and teeth structure.
There is caked mud on the back which acts as a sun screen and bug repellent.
The white rhino can be five feet high at the shoulder and weigh two tons.
The horn can grow up to five feet long.
We were very still for thirty minutes enjoying this animal that didn't seem to mind our presence.
We were lucky enough to meet this animal close up another day and ended the day having cocktails at sunset watching his herd of eight to ten before the darkness covered them.

We would explore the thicker bush another time in search of the black rhino, a much smaller leaf eater who prefers a solitary life and has a shorter temper and more prone to charge.

Each day was such an adventure! Other sightings that day:

The Lion Kings.....by Marilyn

2011-07-19T15:14:00.008-05:00

They say "a picture is worth a thousand words", but it just can't truly convey the intensity of being there. A picture can't describe the deafening roar of lions prowling a mere fifteen feet away, or the quiet padding of a cheetah's feet in the dry grass. A picture can't describe the sickening tearing and crunching sounds made by hungry hyenas devouring the carcass of a downed cape buffalo. It can't describe the alarmed trumpeting of a protective mother elephant warning us to keep more distance from her baby.

A picture can't describe the stench of being downwind of a fully grown cape buffalo, five days dead, rotting in the bush, or the unforgettable odor of a male lion marking it's territory. A picture can't describe the spicy fragrance of fields upon fields of wild sage growing as far as the eye can see in Botswana or the clean fresh scent of clear water flowing slowly through the hundreds of acres of papyrus making channels through the Delta.

All these sights, sounds, scents and emotions are locked forever in my heart and mind; only my pictures can be shared.

We knew these lions were on the hunt. We could hear them a short distance away as we cautiously snaked our way through the thick brush. The moon was near full, but, it was still very dark and our excitement was high....our eyes eagerly following the beam of the spot light as it scanned for any sign of action left and right of the jeep. We were already pumped up from the afternoon game drive, but, we wanted more!

We were looking for "The Boys", the oldest and largest pair of lions in the preserve. They are brothers both wearing the scars of battling with each other on a regular basis to claim the much sought after title of King. They have been inseparable since birth whether hunting or relaxing. They are massive, handsome, and strong - forces to be feared and respected. They were elusive as well on this particular night.

We returned the next afternoon and tracked them to a small tree where they were still resting from the previous nights activities. We knew we would be rewarded for our patience and watched and waited over an hour. It was only a matter of time as the sun set and the air cooled before the first of the two stretched, yawned and walked directly in-front of the jeep to settle down in the road about fifteen feet to our left. Lions are very social and sleep close together, often draping a paw over the face or back of another. When the second lion awoke alone, not knowing where his brother was, he started a series of locating grunts that increasing got louder and louder and were answered with the same intensity. The grunts turned into a roaring duet between the two while we sat in the middle . It was amazing. It made the hair on my neck stiffen and I could almost feel the vibration in the air. It was chilling, awe inspiring and unforgettable.

We were fortunate enough to have a repeat performance two more times then learned from the ranger that he felt the days were numbered for the pair. They are twelve years old and will soon not be able to defend themselves against the younger males that are getting stronger and bolder. It is only a matter time before they will be challenged, beaten and killed, probably by one of their own sons, and the cycle will continue as it has for years.

The four following pictures were snapped as darkness fell, explaining the somewhat eerie look of the pictures...

Birthday Crab(cake)

2011-07-19T12:56:00.005-05:00

Yes, there is much more to come from Safari-land. But it is coming slowly as working with sooooo many photos is a daunting challenge for Marilyn, as she is not accustomed to this here blog thing. So meanwhile, I'll put up a mini bit about our two week stay on the Chesapeake, where we got a chance to celebrate Marilyn's birthday. Those of you who know her well know she eats her much beloved chocolate, sweets and treats ONLY on a Sunday. Way more discipline than I have, so more power to her. While there is only one day a week to eat the specialty items, every day is open season for her most favorite of all food groups- CRAB. And the main thing to do around here, maybe not the only thing, but close to it, is to go crabbing. So we got us a long handle net, a couple of hand lines, some chicken necks (bait!) and a bucket to put what we catch in until we get around to cooking it and eating it. And in truth we did catch a lot of crabs- blue crabs. But there is a size limit on crabs here, and we couldn't seem to catch any that "fit" the crab gauge which had to have to check whether the crabs are "legal" or not. In two full days of crabbing, we only caught one that measured up. Disappointing, yes, but still a lot of fun and we met a bunch of nice people hanging out on the dock. What do they say? A bad day crabbing is better than a good day at work? Or something like that!

So as it became evident we were not about to catch our own birthday feast, we decided to drive in to West Point where there is a fresh crab dealer and we met the boat coming in. Blue crabs are sorted by size and sex. Males in one basket, females in another. Then the male crabs, called jimmies, are sorted by size, numbers 1, 2 and 3, with size 1 being the largest. Price wise, #1 crabs were twice as much as #2 crabs, but after looking them over we went with the largest of the lot and selected a half bushel of #1 jimmies to take home for "Crabaganza." For one thing it is easier to clean the larger crabs. And once we finished eating our fill, and picking out the rest of the crabs- of which there were many- we wound up with two and a half pounds of picked out lump crab meat- which sells in the market for way more than we paid for the half bushel. So not only did we have an all you can eat crab feast- we came out ahead (well, sort of).

If you would care to see how to tell the crabs one from the other, CLICK HERE for a really good identification chart.

On our walks around the area we took some interesting photos and same is true when we went driving around the bay area to see what there was to see. Following is a still or two and then a slide show from our stay here. Have to put this place of the "Definitely Would Come Back" list.

Now let's all sing the second verse of the birthday song: "How old are you now, how old are you now....."

Into Africa......Marilyn's post

2011-07-17T14:48:00.016-05:00

Where did the dream begin??? Was the seed planted fifty-plus years ago while three little girls played for hours with the collections of plastic jungle animals lovingly given to them by their grandmother? Was it the hours spent watching Merlin Perkins on Animal Kingdom? Or was the x-tra special treat of going to the movies to see Tarzan the catalyst? I don't know. Bett remembers always wanting to go on safari to Africa since childhood. I don't ever remember needing to go on safari but I do have a love of animals and nature and locate every zoo, wildlife park, and national park on my RV travels with Greg.

Julie has traveled the world and rated her safari in Tanzania as " the best of the best" and wanted to share the experience with her sisters. She proposed, planned and made possible the most perfect adventure always to be appreciate and never to be forgotten-a celebration of life and sisterhood and the perfect way to celebrate HER 59th birthday. Truly: one of the best twelve experiences of my life!

I don't especially like flying and the trip was long---fifteen hours non stop from New York to Johannesburg and five smaller planes to get to the remote lodges, then a return trip of over sixteen hours to return to JFK. To be honest, the flights were smooth and I had a really great time with the girls. Did you know the drinks are free on an international flight? By the way, I did break my long standing "no pee on the plane" rule.
The planes did get smaller. Julie actually became the co-pilot. No drinks were served. I went back to my " no pee on the plane " rule!

These are pictures of my hut and the lodge at Madikwe Safari Lodge in South Africa. The three lodges were totally different in design, but were all remote and very intimate with only eight to fifteen private huts or tents. Don't let the term "tent" fool you! Even the tents were huge and luxurious with a king size bed, beautiful African wood furniture, animal skin rugs and bed spreads and en-suite bathroom with flush toilets. Believe it or not, we were really in the middle of the game preserves with nothing else around us but bush and animals!

Each of the huts had a small plunge pool on the deck. Because this area is much drier and many of the watering holes dry up later in the winter, often the elephants wander onto the lodge property and drink from the pools.
Stay tuned for more of the safari....

Misty Mountain

2011-07-04T18:41:00.003-05:00

From our Fourth of July headquarters at Misty Mountain in Greenwood, Virginia we took advantage of a break in the stormy weather and drove through part of the Shenandoah Valley to the Blue Ridge Parkway- a twisty, windy scenic road that literally runs along the ridge of the mountain range and looks out over the Shenandoah Valley. We'd been on parts of the parkway in other states but this was our first foray in Virginia. Very scenic. Very pretty, albeit a hot and hazy and foggy day owing to the thunder storms that have plagued us since we arrived. Each time it rains, the coach is nestled in a couple of inches of standing water- no danger of flooding as the water gets carried away by the stream that flows through camp. But wet, none-the-less.

Admittedly I was hesitant about taking pictures and working them up for the blog today. Not that I don't like taking pictures and working with them, but Marilyn returned home from South Africa and Botswana with something on the order of two thousand digital images that we are editing for later use- and let me tell you - that is a whole lot of images to work with. Still, we found some nice material at the ridge life farm museum at the visitors center up on the parkway, so here come a few images from the today's jaunt....

The old farm house had some locals playing ridge music on the porch. Inside we got a first hand look at what it took to survive the ridge in the winter in the "old days."

The barn was made of native logs and hand cut wood shakes- hayloft and all....
And here, Marilyn stands by the "bear proof razorback hog pen" used to hold the hogs over winter or before slaughter after they had been allowed to range in the woods over summer.

And more scenes from the "working" farm museum....including root cellar, spring house, lye filter and more.

Fire In The Hole....

2011-07-01T17:21:00.003-05:00

A five hour run found us in Virginia for the the Fourth of July weekend. Good to be pointed in a direction other than sitting still again. All in all it was a smooth trip (hurray for that) but we saw a couple things along the way that made us realize the wide range of experiences different people have on the same road we travel. One guy drove down the road with his passenger's bare feet sticking out the window catching the breeze, even though it was a mighty warm one. Another guy's car broke down and was picked up by a roll back truck, which promptly blew a tire- catching three surrounding vehicles on fire and, although we managed to pass by before the emergency vehicles arrived on the limited access Rt 81 it was still a bit of a touch and go situation. In case you are wondering- all vehicles not involved in the fire one way or another had to continue on in order that the emergency vehicles could reach the scene. In the 94 degree heat along the way today- no one needed that along the highway camp fire at all!

Life On Roatan- Last In The Series

2011-06-15T14:51:00.008-05:00

Well I certainly didn't go into any great depth on the Roatan series, but I just wanted to give our current friends a look at our life on the island. I 'd like to wrap up the series with a few of my favorite shots of Marilyn during those years and also just a few of the more scenic images that I am sure will never ever leave me. It was not an easy decision when it came time to leave the island, and those days will always be some of the finest moments in a lifetime of adventure....

after a dive....
spider woman?
her swing chair on the reef deck...
the view from the reef deck...
a star in clear salt water...
traveler palm off the reef deck...
Bailey's island from the reef deck...
gate to the back porch...
pond and waterfall I built beside the first casita behind the main house in a rare time of "fog"

hummer and orchids, seaside
iron coast ...
call bell made from scuba tank...
green lizard on red ginger...
So far, for us, only Alaska can rival the beauty of our Island of Roatan.

More of Roatan Life

2011-06-15T13:02:00.011-05:00

We had some "pets" on island as well as guests. First and foremost were our handsome island mutts, Abby and Carly. I say that lovingly. Many of our readers know Abby well, but Carly had passed on prior to the beginning of our North American travels and adventure. We often laugh that they had dual citizenship...as they were "born" to US citizens in Honduras but had travel documents to travel from Honduras to Florida when we moved back to the states. It will be hard for those of you who actually knew Abby to imagine that she and er sisters were actually seriously good watch and guard dogs on the Roatan property. Once retrained in Florida, they were some of the most gentle beasts one could imagine. Abby was eventually to travel to all 49 states available by coach travel with us before finding it too hard to travel on last year.

Carly had a tendency to stay by my side when on island, either that or run away depending on what she felt like at the moment! Abby, then and later, never left Marilyn's side given the opportunity to stay by her. Marilyn swam out in the sea once and faked a drowning to see what Abby would do....Abby swam out and towed her in...it was just a sign of a dedication that she maintained up until the day she passed.
Then there was the Island Ninja Turtles...
And the Gold Fish Sharks "in the mote."
There were a number of good sculptors on island and whenever we got the chance we purchased "art" to support them and add to the flare on the property and especially in the gardens. The "cayman" below was done my Medmelvin Bodden. He was quite the character. His pieces were available for a price and a bottle combination. The cayman for example sold for 150 dollars and a small bottle of Flor de Cana rum. The piece was about 7 feet long if memory serves and had to be moved by two people, but it took more like 4 people if it needed to be carried. It was carved out a solid piece of mahogany. It still resides, as far as I know, at the Cape Coral house.
The Mahi mahi below was (is) my favorite piece. When I saw it by the roadside art stand near the house I tried to get back and buy it as quickly as I could, but it was gone when I got there. Our friend and realtor Mary had gotten it for us as a housewarming gift. Best gift ever! Still have it. Always will.
This piece, mostly hidden by the ginger plants under the cashew tree, was carved from a tree trunk. It depicts an island woman carrying a basket of fish and produce on her head. It had some insect damage even when I picked it up, so we left it right there when we left. But I miss it ever time I look at this picture.
This piece depicts the island lobster diver. Young men, literally "kids" dive too deep, too often, and stay down too long to supply warm water lobsters to the market. Many of them get the bends and are seriously hurt in the process, but it is the island way...and there are many island ways that are slow to change. that is both the wonder and the problem with island life in general.

When we decided to convert the property to a business property, we wanted a logo to represent what we hoped to do, and this is what we came up with- the Sea of Green Mermaid. My son Derek (see his website) designed the print logo...And Medmelvin Bodden carved us the actual mermaid for the 3-D entrance sign:

We became good friends with some of the people who worked on the house and casitas and pool as time passed. We enjoyed having them to the house for family style picnics. Our dogs, Abby and Carly were actually named for Carlos, the head mason on our projects, and Nelson Abbott, our contractor. The guys weren't real big on having dogs named after them at first- until they became convinced that naming them for them was a form of honor that we felt towards them. It became "cool" in short order.
This is Nulfito and family. He helped me with the gardening and landscaping and he was amazingly knowledgeable and helpful. You might think that gardening on an acre and a half is no big deal and a person could easily do that by themselves. Well, maybe in a temperate climate, but not in the tropics. A banana tree can grow a foot a day and some of the vines several feet a day. The gardening alone was a full time job. We always made sure that those that helped us build the property benefited from whatever the property was able to deliver. And we made sure that the children had the means to go to school. School on island is not a given, like it would be here in the states.
I've selected a few images from our gardens- it may give you more of an idea what kind of plant material we were actually managing. In the tropics, plants are grown in "layers." The trees are the top of the canopy. There are plants that are grown in the trees, like some of the orchids. There are plants that are grown under the trees. Then there are the shade lovers that grown under the plants that are under the trees. Each plant must have the light levels and moisture level that it requires to grow well. We grew fruits, nuts, citrus, vegetables, flowers and all other manor of plant life. Most of the images will be of the flowering plants for obvious reasons, although the first image below is a small pineapple plant.

For edible material we grew the pineapples, breadfruit, guava, sour sop, mangoes, papaya. limes, cashews, black and green avocados, bananas and plantains (about 500 plants just of the bananas produced ready to eat fruit nearly every day of the year), hog plums, yuca ( a potato like plant used to make tapioca), almonds, and several kinds of coconuts. Iknow there was much more than that, but that's what comes to mind right off the top of my head. And flowering plants? Hundreds of varieties if not more....

Slide show of plant life:

Casita's First Guests

2011-06-15T12:33:00.005-05:00

When the casitas were first completed and furnished, but even before the water was filled in the pool and spa, we had our first "guests," Dick and Sarah. This post looks at just a few of the things they were able to do and see from their home away from home base at Sea of Green.

Iguanas: On the ground and in the trees.....
Low tech island ship building....
Four wheeling....
Snorkeling on and inside our barrier reef....
Boating to island preserves....
Wild dolphin sighting....
Dolphin encounter program at Anthony's Key Resort which was less than a half mile down the beech form our property....
Guide with horses met them at the gate for some trail and beach riding....
Island dining at Tree House (it really was one); prime rib- island style....
If it seems like a vacation? Then you are beginning to get the idea what our everyday life was like on island.

What's A Casita?

2011-06-14T17:52:00.003-05:00

A casita is a "little house." As mentioned in previous post, we put two of these on our Roatan, Honduras property to turn our home property into a working commercial property- starting as a B&B and continuing on to some limited sea-side "deck dining" and a botanical garden with ponds, waterfalls, wedding party hosting etc. The casitas each had a queen size bed, a kitchenette with stove, frig and sink, a closet and a shower and bath room. They had their own water supply and sewer and, although small, you could be pretty much self sufficient staying in one. They had immediate access to pool and hot tub/spa- just walk out the door across the deck and into the pool or the hot tub. The entire complex was surrounded by lush tropical landscaping and orchids by the thousands, which were in such number that there were always some blooming on a year around basis. A stay in the casita included a gourmet breakfast served on your deck. There was a botanical garden on the island but over time, more people wanted to come see our gardens than actually went to the island botanical garden, which was nice, but also natural as opposed to maintained and manicured. In point of fact, the property was popular to the point where people began referring to it as "Gundyville." When we came back to the states and put "the show on the road", it naturally became Gundyville On Wheels.

Here's a look at the casitas and the area of the property around them:

Building For The Future

2011-06-14T14:22:00.004-05:00

Long about the time we finished the house on Roatan- the unthinkable happened: Hurricane Mitch! We had made one of our considerations about where to locate in the tropics with regard to where the storms were most likely to stay away. As close as Roatan is to the Equator, Hurricanes seldom ever attack the island which is 35 miles long but only 5 miles wide. In fact they had not had a storm of great consequence in about 100 years of relocating there. The oldest islanders remembered a big storm....and when the air went still -something it seldom does where the trade winds blow- the old timers said there would be a storm. It had happened that way before....

And so it came to be, that exactly two days after we had moved everything in to the house and had it just the way we wanted it, category 5 Hurricane Mitch hit the Bay Islands of Honduras. These islands are not terribly flat, so a storm that comes and goes is not too much of a problem... the wind is broken by the mountains and vegetation, the waves are knocked down by the reef, and the water and rain roll into the sea just as fast as they can hit the ground. But Mitch had other ideas for his visit; he came, he hit, he stalled and for 5 days he battered the islands, remaining a "five" the whole time. The island of Guanaja, just 16 miles from our Roatan location played host to the eye wall of the storm. What was one of the most lush green islands you could ever see was totally brown when the storm moved away. Not a tree remained standing. Not a business was able to continue on. On the rest of the islands and even on the mainland, similar problems presented what was probably the worst thing we have ever had to deal with....

Thirty nine inches of rain fell in five days. The empty 50,000 gallon cistern on which we built our house filled in a weekend- not in a year like we had planned. Rivers that were normally 8 feet deep ran uncontrolled at a depth of 80 feet deep. Everyone and everything in their paths was destroyed. Tens of thousands of people on the mainland drowned or otherwise were killed by the storm. For months after the storm bodies were still washing up on the beeches of Roatan. I myself took it on the chin and came down with dengue fever (often referred to as Break-bone fever and resembling severe malaria). I also contracted a staph infection that caused me to lose 40 pounds in two weeks- and nearly took me out as well. They did for me what they could in my bed in our house- there were no flights to anywhere to make for a rescue. Even the two story airport in San Pedro Sula, where the hospital was located on the mainland was under water entirely. There was no landing strip. Not anywhere. The doctor from the barometric chamber and dive center, who Marilyn begged to come to the house, drove a nail into the wall above the bed and set me up with an IV drip. It was all anybody could do. Weeks later when I could get to a hospital, the dead bodies were still being "piled high" in the hall ways of just about every building that could be made into a temporary hospital.

That was the bad news. The good news was that we had planned for such a scenario as best we could. Planning matters. We did not build the house on the flat portion of our beachfront property where it would surely have been lost. We built it up on the hill. The normally tranquil seas in front of our property were transformed to 30 foot seas outside the reef and twelve foot waves inside the reef that hit the island beach. The 130 foot dock was gone like match sticks. The rugged stone wall crumbled and sank in the sand despite having solid footings. But the house? We had placed it high enough to stay out of the water. And we had built it to "take a 200 mile an hour wind." I have no way to tell you how hard the wind blew for those five days, but my guess would be 140 mph or so steadily and for a long time. Those 570 small panes of glass in louver lock-down- no problem. Roof shingles made of concrete- no problem- one and a half shingles on the very edge broke but the roof never even leaked. The concrete Hardi-siding plank siding of the house- no problem. So what for me at that time was a prison and a hospital....held. Nearby neighbors came and stayed in our fully concrete safe room downstairs and were also safe. As power was out for a long time we cooked everything in the frig and freezer for the neighborhood. We all made it. Our new house had earned our respect and that of those around us.

But once repairs were made, the dock rebuilt, the stonewall reconstructed, we began looking for ways to do more with the property. And while the property became more and more gorgeous with everything we did, there came a time when we though about putting it on the market. You don't just sell a place on an island in a foreign country overnight or because you decide you want to. That takes planning as well. And it became apparent early on that if it were going to sell handily, it would have to be a money making property. So that became our next mission and we built two casitas (little houses) and a giant pool and spa between them roughly in the shape of an angel fish. We used the casitas as guest houses for visiting friends and family, and ultimately turned them into an upscale B&B which did extremely well right from the get-go and right up until the day that we finally did sell the property.

Because we were located on the beautiful water of the bay of Honduras, but also wanted to market the lush botanical gardens that we created as the setting for the B&B and our own home, we named the place "Sea of Green." We had a mermaid sculpture carved which graced the property and became our advertising logo. It was part of the sculpture collection we gathered while on the island. We bought some pieces, were given some pieces and I carved a few of them myself. A look at more of these features as this story continues. But for this post I wanted to show the building of the casitas and the pool.....

...in the first shot below, a tarantula gets some TLC and exercise on Marilyn's hand- honest. Carlos, our head mason, looking on, taught her how to safely handle the normally scary critters. We almost never saw the tarantulas during the daytime unless we were disturbing the ground like we were when we were constructing all this, but at night they were everywhere by the thousands. Never had a problem with them even once.

The Very First "Five Year Plan"

2011-06-14T12:43:00.003-05:00

The current "five year plan" has come to an end, but not the activity it was based on. We had intended to travel North America for five years....and then figure out what to do next. Apparently the decision has been made to extend that plan by as much time as we see fit- as we are still having fun, and still think there are places to go, things to see and many more things to do. The lifestyle just seems to fit us for now.

Last post I looked briefly at the "five year plan" which preceded the current one: life on the beautiful Gulf Coast of Florida in a house on the water in Cape Coral. While there, we started a couple new businesses and just generally had a great time with great friends. But our activities in Cape Coral were at least in park, directed by the "five year plan" that preceded the Cape Coral plan. The Cape Coral plan, began in large part, because we felt we could no longer justify living a life outside of the country. Having parents with health issues put us in the frame of mind that we should be closer to home, more readily accessible in case of emergency, and so we sold what we had built on Roatan- an island roughly 50 miles off the coast of Honduras and part of the Islas de la Bahia, or Bay Islands. As it had turned out, our time there was also to be a "five year plan," although, honestly we went there without any such time limitation in mind. It just worked out that way. And ever since, we have thought about our choice of lifestyle(s) as a series of "five year plans."

So everyone always wants to know: "What ever took you to an island off the coast of Honduras- of all places?" It was a series of dive vacations actually. I carry a certification level of dive master and assistant instructor and Marilyn has achieved her "advanced" certification. I started diving in salt water in mid winter Maine, where the water is like ice even when it isn't ice. I got Marilyn started in a bathtub in Maine. A reluctant "water person" at first, I stuck sea life stickers on the bottom of the tub in our old farmhouse there, placed an air tank on the floor by the tub, strapped a mask over her face and a regulator in her mouth...and the rest is history. She went from "reluctant" to amazingly enthusiastic and over our time diving together it was often much harder to hold her back than it was to get her in the water. We traveled at length and dove many of the Caribbean waters, but it was the island of Roatan, and the association we formed with Anthony's Key Resort, the premier dolphin encounter program in the world, that started us thinking about actually living there and pursuing our passion on an every day basis. I think it was probably something on the idea of 7 times that we stayed there on vacations that increased by a week or so each time we went there. It got to the point where we felt more at home on the island then we did when we were at home ....and so the planning and the adventure of actually transitioning from US life to Ex-pat life began in earnest.

It wasn't easy! These days we watch as "shoppers" on House Hunters International get on a plane, visit an island in the Third World for the very first time, decide they love it, look for and buy a house- all over the course of an hour or a half hour show. Not saying it can't happen like that- just that it shouldn't. In depth research is required- many visits, many questions, many considerations are necessary to avoid the pitfalls that can cost you big time if you don;t get it right the first time. We've seen it over and over again. In the course of our preparation, we traveled to the country more than seven times, interviewed with the Honduran Embassy on Wall Street in New York City twice, with the Department of State (Honduras version), and needed to prepare documents from all sources in both the US and Honduras requiring by our count needing to be fingerprinted at least seven times. And even when all was said and done, we needed to hand Honduran Customs a letter of recommendation of character from the Chief of Police in Rockland, Maine, where we moved to Honduras "from" upon arrival to begin our status as "residents of Honduras."

We spent the better part of a year looking for and buying land. Good land. On the Bay of Honduras and overlooking the reef- but high enough not to be subject to storm damage should it ever come- an effort that was to pay off big time before our stay was over and quite possibly a decision that saved our lives. More on that later.

Once we secured the land (also not an easy thing to do- getting clear title in a foreign country where the deadline for everything is "manana" (tomorrow)) we designed and built a house of about 1500 sq. ft. The actual enclosed portion of the house was not that big. Unlike most places, "space under air" has nothing to do with life in the tropics and on an island. We did not have, nor did we ever need, a heater. We did not have, nor did we ever need, an air conditioner. We did not have, not did we ever need an inside dining room; we took our meals on one of the decks, usually one without a roof, but we had two with roofs so if it was raining, we had a dry place on either side of the house to eat no matter which way the wind was blowing. The house itself had 570 panes of glass- they were part of the louvered windows and they wrapped all the way around the house. So each room of the house had unbelievable views and vistas, be they water, beach, or lush tropical gardens. Only the bathrooms (two of them) had wooden louvers for privacy when desired- and for safety sake in case we needed to duck away from the glass in case of a storm- another wise decision on our part.

For us it was the perfect house. We had an island contractor who we had checked out THOROUGHLY! He was a gem. His crew was likewise wonderful and we all became close friends and still are to this day. We had beachfront 75 feet wide by 200 feet deep. We enclosed the beach with a stone wall and planted a coconut grove, about 30 trees in all. Then there was a hill that raised up from the beach about 30 to 50 feet in elevation. The house sat on the edge of the hill overlooking the reef. Behind the house we had rain forest landscaping and vegetation. I'll do a separate piece on all that later. All in all the property was about an acre and a half.

The main house was our first project and we spent 10 months full time building the house. Here are some shots to give you an idea of how things looked inside and outside the main house: (our house is the higher of the three and in the center of the photo....the other two houses were not visible through the thick vegetation from anywhere other than the dock...which we also built.)

Cape To Cape

2011-06-10T08:58:00.006-05:00

While Marilyn is in South Africa and Botswana on safari with her sisters, I'm finding I may actually have some time to catch up on a few of my long term blog goals that I've kept on the back burner while we continue our non-stop North American travels.

So for this post, we'll not go to Cape of Good Hope or Cape Town, but rather Cape Coral- which is on the Gulf coast of Florida. The coach and the Quig are both tagged to Florida, Lee County, Cape Coral, where we maintained a very nice home for about five years. Our legal address currently is also Florida, but not Cape Coral. Instead we use a mail forwarder by the name of St. Brendan's Isle, which is generally in the Jacksonville Florida area.

The number one question we get "on the road" is "Where are you from?" That is a long story.... and I hope the next few posts will give some added perspective to the answer to that question. Presently we are "from" where-ever we are parked. That is the stock answer for those who, like us, live full time in a coach, a camper, an RV, or what have you that moves from place to place on a full time basis. Transients. Migrants. Gypsies. Homeless. Perhaps a bit of each but also none of the above. A lot of people think this is a unique life style and I suppose that is true, but certainly the number of people who do just that is vastly greater than many would assume. We see it all if we possibly can. Our perspective on the world, or at least this part of it, is as diverse and inclusive as we can make it.

But where have we "come from?" Five years on the road (with no end in sight) began from the Florida base. The home in Cape Coral was, like many homes in that area, on a canal. It was also across the street from a protected "green" area which was on the Caloosahatchee River. It was a beautiful home, in our humble opinion, and our time there was a very happy time. Many friends. Boating. Fishing. Semi tropical climate. Along with all the good things came the hurricanes. We counted 8 of them in the five year period that impacted us to one degree or another- even if was only to force us to "shutter up" in anticipation of what could happen. We never had damage to our house, although the landscaping took it on the chin a time or two. We were lucky. Not everyone was. Still, the time came, when our "five year plan" matured and we longed to see more, travel more, experience new things...and so off we went.

What I wanted to do here is to post pictures of the Cape Coral house. Re-establish roots by visiting the places we are "from." In reverse order....

We did the landscaping ourselves- which led to a small landscaping and property management company which did very well for as long as we ran it, before eventually selling it. We did the landscaping to make the property as lush as possible- our effort to make the Florida property as close as possible to our Roatan, Honduras Island property which represented the five year plan which led into the Florida five year plan. You can't make the semi tropical regions as lush as the tropical regions of the world, but you can come darn close- and we felt like we did just that.

Beginning with the next post, I hope to start an in-depth look at island life. Of all our five year plans, so called, the Roatan experience was THE most amazing.

One Half Gundyville On WINGS?

2011-06-03T11:23:00.003-05:00

So far all of our stories have been "wheel based"- that is to say we traveled to all of our destinations by coach and/or van. But while this has been true to date, it is also the case that we have had Marilyn "in training" for going on safari with her two sisters. This coming Wednesday the girls will travel to New York and board a plane for South Africa and Botswana- so one half of Gundyville (Marilyn) will be traveling to the next venue by wings. She had to do some "outfitting" as neutral color clothing of specific requirements are advised by the travel company. She had to have a camera with specific capabilities....and learn how to use it effectively.

In order to help her get in the spirit (not that it took much to do that!) I made her an "elephant" from some palm tree components and gave it to her to practice with. Don't have a clue what I am talking about? The pictures will explain everything that needs explaining.

So here is a first look at pre-safari Marilyn....and I invite you to stand by with me and await her return from Africa with a camera full of exciting photos. Or so we hope!

Even When You Are "IN" Safe and Sound

2011-05-31T12:07:00.003-05:00

With all the problems that plagued us almost daily on our recent cross country run, we were mighty happy and feeling fine to back in to the site at Thousand Trails in Hershey and shut the engine off. Whew! Made it. No more problems- at least for a while. But that feeling assumed there would be no problems without the engine running and the wheels turning. You do know what happens when you "ASS U ME" too much, don't you?

So I guess I really should not have been all that surprised when I hooked up the city water supply, turned on the spigot, and the inlet valve on the side of coach exploded in my face and sent water shooting everywhere. Without that inlet valve- no water, no shower, no dishes, no anything water related. The valve contains a back-flow preventer or check valve, so it was not even possible to access the water in the holding tank, what little we had been traveling with. So after 9 hours of driving, we phoned around to find a part and off we went to fetch it- a ride which required another three hours on the road. Then home to lay on the wet ground in the dark and make the repair.

Now if that would have been the extent of the situation, I guess I would have been laughing in short order instead of crying. But I still faced figuring out what had been the problem with the basement doors, which had popped open a total of thirteen times on the crossing. That was lucky 13 because the doors did not get clipped or ripped off; unlucky though because I couldn't seem to stop it from happening again and again. I rigged them with small bungees as each in turn became a problem en route. Latch adjustments. Latch hold adjustments. Door adjustments. Lock adjustments. Nothing stopped the problem. And while over the last two weeks I have worked on those doors repeatedly and put redundant safety mechanisms in place- I really won't know until we roll again whether my "fixes" were fixes at all, or just me spending some quality time with my basement doors.

When I have not been working on things at the coach, we have been fixing things at the home of my mother which is about an hour (each way) from the campground. So while the coach hasn't moved in two weeks, the same cannot be said for the van. Fuel prices here are hovering up and down around the four dollar level. Could be worse I suppose. But sure wish it were better.

Tomorrow we will move the coach to Krumsville where we will be parked for one month. I will still be working on the coach I assume....and doing chores at the house. Marilyn will be traveling "the world" with her sisters. There must be a Ya Ya Sisterhood post or two in there somewhere. But a bit more of that in June, and then hopefully I will have a "guest blogger" late in the month.

Today I checked all fluids. A special brand of paranoia is driving me hard right now! I fixed the safety catch on the rear sliding closet doors. I also picked up a new potable water hose as the one we have been using decided that it too would spring a pin hole leak and super soak the ground under the water compartment. I could go on and on, but right now I'm not seeing the point, so I'll stop.

My high school class, the class of 66, will also be holding its 45th reunion next week. This will be the first one I have ever attended. It may just be the last too. If that is true, I hope it is because I choose not to attend any more....and not because I can't! A lot of the class of 66 have passed into the next life, so I guess there is merit in touching bases with those that are still here.

Rolling June 1. Go, coach, go!

Worse...Worser....Worst?

2011-05-07T11:34:00.005-05:00

I never intended to vacation in Kansas. You can tell Dorothy and her little dog that for me! But here I sit in a hotel room at the Comfort Inn in beautiful downtown Topeka, typing away on the components of the computer that I could "salvage" from the coach. Not "salvage" as in the rest of them are ruined...as in I can't can't get to them. Why? Because no fuel, no run engine, no run generator, no open slide, no charge batteries, no keep freezer and fridge running....and so on. See what I mean?

Last post I used the word "worse." And in retrospect I do think that was entirely fair and maybe even spot on. Now more and bigger problems have developed and so technically I suppose I will have to say that matters have gotten "worser." To be sure we are not at or even near "worst." Dare I say that? Not with any confidence, but with full faith that that will be the case.

So there I was, minding my own business and feeling a touch tired after driving 400 miles (800 since our last layover for repairs). The only problem of the day had been the wind gusts to 35 mpg that slapped us on the right side of the coach for about the last half of the day. But that was doable, manageable, bearable. We slipped off Rt 70 exit 333 and proceeded a mile down the road to our rest stop for the night, a lovely little camp ground made from an old train station in Paxico, KS. It looked very picturesque. I was glad the day was coming to an end. This trip has felt like a bit of a battle at times. Just before the entrance to the camp ground, the road that ran parallel to the train track crossed the track, essentially in a 180 degree crossing and became a 1/4 mile dirt road into camp. Do I smell diesel fuel? We pulled up to the office to register and Marilyn got out to go do just that. I stepped to the rear of the coach to use the rest room on wheels- it smelled very strongly of diesel fuel (no the coach, silly), and that is nothing resembling typical. I stuck my head out the door towards the back of the coach. Smoke? Lots of smoke? Did a quicky check to see what was up and realized muy pronto that the problem was in the engine room. There was fuel spraying everywhere. I ran for the closest fire extinguisher. I keep them pretty much everywhere ......and now I know why. Shut the engine down. Ran in the office to inform them of the problem. Put the bright orange cones out to signal disabled vehicle. We are still within about 20 feet of the rail line...and now only some three minutes after stopping dead- here comes the freight train. Crap! Did I mention we were right smack dab in the middle of the entrance to the campground at this point? You could get around us if you tried hard, but clearly we were in the way. And that train! Crap!

The campground gave me a tub to slide under the coach to catch leaking fuel. The fuel now dripping at a significant rate from several spots under the engine, was, just 80 miles up the road, a fill up at a cost of 550.00 dollars. Forget the smoke, the heat, the danger, the nuisance, the hassle, the heartbreak- that was my damn fuel budget leaking out the back end of my damn coach! And the repair budget- oh, honey, that was totaled many miles and many months back and this is only May!

What to do? Call the tow company for which we pay a handsome "retainer" of sorts for just such occasions. A first defense legal fund for breakdowns is how I have to look at it. And although there will surely be a healthy deductible, the warranty and extended warranty will surely kick in to our private version of rebuilding America one repair at a time. But not so fast. That last repair was carried out with about 300 miles left on that old extended warranty run...and that was now done, finished, completo, finite. CRAP! I say again as I notice the odometer has rolled over 60,000 miles, the end of one contract and the beginning of a new one. 60,075.4 Surely it had been clever of us, despite the transition, to sign on to an additional 4 year extended warranty contract only three days ago as we took care of that last problem with the sensor on the old policy. Surely we were paying attention to our needs. Surely our timing was perfect.

But not so fast! The new warranty company claims there is a 30 day waiting period between policies. Crap I say yet again. Double crap. Crap on all y'all! This must not be allowed to stand as no one told us about that and nowhere in the brochure we have does it say anything about that. And they now have all the money for a "premium" that could otherwise go to cover this repair! Resolving that issue is in the works. Like having a courier carry in a part from Kansas City first thing Monday morning for, hopefully, an afternoon repair. Like pressure or steam washing the engine so the fuel that is everywhere under the belly is cleaned before it becomes a fire hazard yet again on the next leg of the journey, WHEN there is a next leg of the journey. Like reconnecting the drive shaft that must me dropped to tow the coach. Like finding a hotel in Topeka that realizes this is Topeka and not Times Fricking Square on New Year's Eve. Like trying to get caught up on rest and sleep with all this stuff shaking my brain. Like trying to summon the courage (where is the lion from the Wizard of Oz when you need him?) to actually get back in the drivers seat of that big rig and try to face all this crap one more time?

The Comfort Inn. I know how it got its name now. In Topeka, anyway, it is adjacent to the Hooters Property. And last night I needed some comfort AND a drink. Hooters has that covered (or uncovered as the case may be) and then some.... It helped us kick back, calm down, chill out, mellow fellow....and forget at least some of the crap for a short while. And more importantly, a relaxed mood gives you the ability to realize that while it may have gotten bad, then worse, then worser, and could become even worserer at some point, it is still a long way off from worst.

At least some of our friends and relatives are posting "Coach For Sale" signs on Face Book. More email comments than I can respond to right now from my corner-by-the-window-simulated-knotty-pine desk in the Comfort Inn are rolling in. Our support system is deep, and we appreciate all of you and all you have to say: the ads, the jokes, the well-wishes, and yes, even some of the crap that you dish out...

...now if each of you would just take one little dollar bill, put it in an envelope and send it to: Gundyville, On The Road, Somewhere in Kansas......

When Bad Gets Worse....

2011-05-04T22:01:00.002-05:00

If you read the last post, you saw we had a pretty rough day. But we survived it, and expected things to get better. But bad turned to worse and a long two day delay to get things fixed ensued. All of the problems that seemed to work themselves out came back...and then some. Long story short, we found an auto dealer for the van and a diesel engine repair facility in the tiny town of Las Vegas- that's New Mexico, not Nevada, for the coach. The Santa Fe Trail. Somewhere between places we could have had problems and taken care of them easier....maybe. It took heating the van's exhaust system up to 1100 degrees to burn out the carbon in the exhaust system that wanted to make that engine not run. And it took an overnight replacement for a coolant sensor to get the engine on the coach up and running again. Small town friendly made a bad situation tolerable. Good service from small companies "on the spot" made it possible to get going faster than one might have thought. And the good folks at Spartan Chassis in Michigan shipped our part out late afternoon one day and it was here and installed before noon the next. Gotta love that....

So this is a report and not a story - true. But stress and fatigue from pushing as push requires to get back on the road made one too tired to be telling stories tonight. Last night the canyons echoed with the screams of the frustrated, but tomorrow morning, he said with his fingers crossed, the sounds will be the joyous sounds of a big diesel rolling down the highway. Hmmmmmmmmmmmmm................

What's The "Sensor" Of It?

2011-05-02T21:29:00.004-05:00

Tonight finds us in New Mexico headed East. There was lots of beautiful scenery that we couldn't really take the time to properly appreciate today, and we rekindled lots of nice memories as we rolled past places we have visited before: Painted Desert, Meteor Crater, Petrified Forest, and Las Vegas just to name a few. But in these first two days of travel, problems have plagued us big-time. It almost seems like a shake down cruise, but it's far from that....more like a shake up cruise!

It all started yesterday as we were all hooked up and ready to pull out of Desert Gold in Brenda. We never ever pull out without a final check of all the lights. And on this occasion the right turn signal on the tow car would not operate. I disconnected and reconnected the tether wire several times ...and nothing. It may not sound like a big deal, but lane changes in traffic, like say in Albuquerque, can be disastrous if others don't know where I am headed. It's a big rig and despite lots of mirrors there are blind spots- so I really needed to get this blinker working. On past occasions, some dirt has gotten in one end or the other of the plug and kept it from working. Cleaning usually helps, but not this time. Moisture maybe? I licked my thumb and wiped the end of the contacts, and tried again. Still nothing. It was hot and very windy and my thumb had pretty much dried before I wiped the contacts. Maybe if I licked the plug real quick and sanitary like? Oh, the other end was still connected to the coach. Any idea what 12 volts feels like applied directly to the tongue? Remember the old hit: Good Good Good Vibrations? My tongue vibrated that tune for the next 300 miles.....oh, yes it WAS a bit dumb. BUT: it worked, the blinker came back and off we went. That is the extent of my mechanical skills, but what works....works.

Today should have been better. But while breaking camp this morning one of the slides refused to pull in. Running down the road with an open slide? Not possible. So today started about the same as yesterday. But a few pokes and prods, a couple jiggles, and maybe a kick or two with the back of the heel and that too began working again. Ready to go? Lets check the tire pressure. Oh oh, one tire monitor not working; we had a spare, took the time to reprogram that on the front right tire of the rig. Now ready to go? Here we go.....

But as we got ready to pull out of our campsite, the "STOP ENGINE" light came on the dash. I did. The jacks had not fully retracted. Tried it again. Came on again. The third time this happened though I let it run through its cycle and eventually the warning light went out. Let's try this again.

A couple of mildly nervous travelers cruised down the road. Feeling any more at ease? Maybe. Until we tried to pass a couple other big rigs and while doing so, another tire monitor was set off. It showed the back left tire on the tow vehicle was losing air rapidly. That's what they are for- to let you know you are running too soft before the tire heats up and blows. We completed the pass and pulled over quickly on a tight stretch of highway in heavy traffic. With little room to work I ran back to check the tire. Yep. Problem. But the sensor that alerted us to the problem was also actually causing the problem as a seal on the sensor had popped loose and was leaking. Again, we had a spare (part of the Gundy redundancy program) and reprogrammed it and set it in place. But the tire was still too low on air. I carry a 50 foot compressed air hose which hooks up to an on board compressor in the front of the coach. But that doesn't reach the back tire of a car in tow. I carry a portable compressor too. But these new sensors require a lithium cream lubricant to keep the brass and steel stems from "freezing" and this stuff is sooooooo slippery. How slippery is it? Slippery enough to keep the nozzle of the compressor from locking on to the tire stem, so the minute I hit 70 pounds of air it popped off. I needed 80 pounds. Not good. After all else failed, we limped down the road until we came upon a travel stop owned by the Hopi Indians. They had fuel; I didn't need any. They had a free air compressor- but it didn't work. Drat! They told us where there was tire shop nearby. Two bucks and two minutes later and we were back on the road. My insides were all torn up... something or other had been going "south" all day while we were traveling north and east. The nerves were shot. It felt like there would be more. There was....

A fifth wheel we had passed a short while back now passed us pointing wildly down at the bottom of the coach. Other campers often wave or give a thumbs up, but this was different. Were they telling us something was wrong. That's a roger! One of the locked basement doors had somehow bounced off its hold and was flapping in the breeze- a 70 mile an hour down the highway breeze that is. Again we pulled over and took the time to repair the lock. We didn't loose any cargo, the door was not damaged. Onward!

Despite all the delays and setbacks, we completed the 350 miles we had set for a goal for today. This is a mountainous trail we are traveling and the uphill sections are slowwwwwwwww. If there was good news in the day, the snow showers were no harm no foul at the higher elevations. We made it to our campground, and a nice guy jumped in a golf cart and guided us to our site. He parked and talked for a few minutes, then jumped back in his cart and....... nothing. His battery was dead as a doornail....

It was just one of those days! Tomorrow is another day, and I hope a better day. But ya never know! Do ya? I'm a bit nervous.

Full Bloom

2011-04-27T22:13:00.001-05:00

Good things come to those who wait. Heinz ketchup. Remember that one? Guinness beer. Gotta pour it real slowly. And a saguaro in full regalia. They won't all be in full bloom by the time we pull out on or about May 1, but more and more of them are beginning the bloom every day now and a few, like you will see today, are going all out. They are just crawling with honey bees and a whole host of other insects and the small hummers look like little helicopters flying security for the bees. We are so happy we extended our stay and waited out their arrival. Good things come to those who wait.

T Minus Five

2011-04-25T19:09:00.003-05:00

Only five days before we head out of Dodge and head back East, mid-west weather permitting. In a way we are sad to go because, and Lynn-Jude said it best, when the campers leave, the critters move back in. 'Tis true, 'tis true. A couple days back we showed you the two rams that moved in for a drink up on Chapel Hill above camp. Well today, while we were on our way back to the wash with a van full of five gallon buckets to help ourselves to some of the choice gravel in the wash, Marilyn once again spotted some movement up on the hill. Yep, another ram. We watched him for a while through the binoculars, then spotted some more movement in his vicinity. A ewe. First one, then another and another and another, and some lambs- first one, then another....until we had our sights set on 10 sheep. They stayed on the ridge near the water and the chapel site, then moved over the ridge and out of sight. But like the last time, we guessed perfectly where they might come down the other side of the mountain and we were there and waiting as they started down while the ram watched, and then finally followed. Now when we get to the slide show you will see I have probably quite a few more entries in the photo contest than a guy would ordinarily be allowed. But positioning yourself right smack dab into the herd is not an everyday occurrence and I had no intentions of doing anything other than keep pressing the shutter button while the chance was there.

Please look carefully at the saguaros as the sheep cross the face of the hill on their way down to where we were waiting. You will notice, with a sharp eye, that some of the buds at the top of the cacti are starting to open...and just in time, considering our scheduled departure in just a few days. So once I get the sheep shots up and running, I'll follow that with a closer look at the saguaro flowers, which, but the way, are totally awesome, even if a bit hard to get an angle on with the camera from ground level- and trust me, no one will be climbing up the cactus for a better shot.

But first, a look at some imposters: these little lizards were trying to look like the rams keeping watch over the flock- sticking their heads and upper bodies out over the rock ledges to see what they can see.... please remember: you can enlarge any photo by clicking on it, then back arrow to return to the blog text.

Then this little bee, stinger at the ready, hovering beside his saguaro flower and warning off all others...

And a look at the ram's head and horns when I was at my closest...

And two other cactus blooms I haven't shown before...
Slide Show: Ramicans and Lambicans:

Blooming Saguaros:

Guess Who's Coming To Happy Hour

2011-04-23T13:14:00.004-05:00

Sitting in the shade of the shed! Say THAT three times fast while holding the tip of your tongue.

That's what we were doing ( the sitting in the shade part, not the saying stuff while holding the tips of our tongues) when Marilyn noticed movement up on the foothill that is our primary view looking out the front of the coach and toward the grander mountains off in the distance. We were sipping a beverage. It was the appointed time of Happy Hour. Marilyn ran to grab the binoculars...and sure enough there were two large rams moving across the face of the hill just below the ridge.

We left the iced drinks to melt in the heat, grabbed the camera, jumped on the bike (that is reference to the ATV- no I am not peddling anything) and darted off in the direction of the foot of the hill. There they were, moving left to right towards the higher points behind the park. Moving higher as they went to take the better vantage of the ridge. I scurried up the hill on foot to get closer and got what pictures I could. Then I bolted back down the hill and we rode around the backside of the hill anticipating the place where they might cross the flats and gravel yard to get back to the wash and then up into the mountains....

Now why call this post anything having to do with Happy Hour? Well, the water towers that are the holding tanks for the wells that the park uses are atop the hill. Below the water tanks is a float controlled watering hole provided for wildlife. And while the time when any given form of wildlife may choose to come in for a cool drink of water has nothing to do with it being "5'oclock somewhere," that is in fact the timing more or less of this occasion.

And lucky I was on this occasion that I happened to pick the very best spot around the back of the hill to wait in photo-ambush of the big rams. As it turned out they crossed gravel flats right smack dab in front of me. How cool is that! Actually, I may have preferred that I had a little more distance between them and me as they were big animals, with big horns, and had they decided to engage me rather than avoid me (they knew darn well I was there) I would not have been fast enough to run circles around the saguaro I was trying to hide behind to escape whatever they may have had in mind for me- sticking a camera in their face like that while they were trying to unwind from a hard day in the desert.

One thing to watch for in the photos, one of the rams had a horn broken off- so he was carrying only one. I don't know if horns grow back when broken in the same fashion as antlers are dropped and regrown the following season. But I had no intentions of tangling with a ram, no matter how many horns he was sporting.

And speaking of Happy Hour- I guess it really was. A jackrabbit and some quail were out and about at the same time. Cheers everyone!

Blooming Thursday

2011-04-21T14:59:00.003-05:00

In the beginning...............there was Happy Tuesday. Nearing the end of our season in the desert, we are declaring today to be Blooming Thursday. Taking it easy today. Laying low. Put in our hour long walk early today, then took a little bike ride around the park and into the desert to see what we could find blooming. Now nearly every species is sporting something in the way of some blooms. The saguaro are budding nicely but so far they are the primary holdout. They are often among the last to bloom anyhow, but this year they seem to be running even later than usual. With only a bit more than a week here, maybe they will bloom before we depart and maybe not. Hope so.

So here's what IS putting on the colorama for Blooming Thursday today.

Of Purple Doors And Dirty Boogers

2011-04-21T00:18:00.004-05:00

WARNING: This post contains material not suitable.............. Period!

Well, the shed is finished. The landscape is finished for now (I think). What we have done to this lot in the last 30 days is kind of amazing even to us, given the issue of the heat and the lack of the tools of the trade. Bare hands. Sweaty brows. Cactus scratches. Blisters. It's been some tough work, but a labor of love. Never-the-less, we're tired now. Dog tired. And "tired" can make for some funny times and funny lines.

Ever notice the colors of the desert. You might think its primary color is brown, as in dirt. And to someone who has no eye for color, or who just doesn't care to look for color, I suppose that might be true. But actually the desert is a very colorful place, especially now as the colors of Spring venture forth with or without April showers. We've been here five months more or less already and only four maybe five days have we seen with any rain at all, and only one of them would I call a true day of rain. But I digress.

Color. It comes from the spectrum of light. And perhaps no where is the spectrum more spectacular than in the desert when it's flinging its palette on the mountains as the sun first peeks over the hills in the morning, then changes positions in the sky and then dips below the horizon in an all out assault - throwing color to the heavens for all the world to behold. It can be beautiful. It can be unbelievable. It can be tropical. It can be cold. It can be coral. It can be purple.

Purple doors on a shed? Even Marilyn who ventured the idea of this color for the doors went running for the color swatch we had picked out at Home Depot when we first began to brush the doors on the front of the shed. The label on the swatch said, "Vintage Grape." But, hell, it sure looked like purple to me. I was expecting a soft violet, which, though bolder in nature than my usually preferred pristine paint palette of white or neutral buff I still thought would look good with the Caribbean Coral of the other cans of paint that I had picked to be close to Sedona Red Rock Rose. But purple? Well, it's a hundred miles to Home Depot more or less, so purple it was. Besides, things are winding down here out of time and necessity and hundred degree days and so the decision was made....it is what it is!

It grows on you. Isn't that what they say? And so it did. I like it now. Now I think we are bold masters of the use of the desert colors. The red rock rose of the area and the power tint of the morning sky and the purple majesty of the mountains as the sun kisses them good night. Ah, yes, give me color....

The first person to comment called it "colorful." The second person to comment acknowledged that, "it doesn't offend me." What seemed like it could go down hill rapidly, though, turned around quickly as the colors began to "work" with the surroundings and then "grew" on everyone else watching the process as well. Now we love it. A lot. I think. I'm pretty sure. The owners of the campground like it a lot- the whole lot, a whole lot. The managers of the park stop by regularly to express their delight at the process and prospect. The maintenance crew has all been great, lending a helping hand when they are able. Some of the neighbors have begun new gardens and one guy has a new shed too and is thinking about painting the door red. Neato! And absolutely no one has said they don't care for it (even if that is the case, which we hope it isn't).

So yesterday, as we sat in the late afternoon shade of the shed, feet propped up, sucking down yet another big glass of ice water to try to rehydrate, we felt a sense of accomplishment. We looked for....and saw, all the colors of the shed as the sun bade us all farewell. It felt good. Tired can feel good when the work is all done and the results are good too.

But my nose was running. I took the clean white handkerchief from my pocket and.... I blew. Working hard and riding in the desert in this environment where dust is the major component of every breath you take has one very negative side effect: dirty boogers. I couldn't help observing the dirty little boogers as I "checked the contents" before putting the hankerchief back in my pocket for the next time it might be needed. It was nasty, but nothing new....and all you riders of the dust devils know where-of I am speaking, admit it or not. But while I had blown my nose to eliminate the "nastys" before, you know - those semi detached morsels that sort of race up and down your nostril without deciding which way they really intend to travel- it all of a sudden dawned on me, in all my kicked back tiredness and perhaps bordering on the verge of giddiness, that since we have been here, I have not seen my bride blow her nose even a single time....

"Man, these are some dirty boogers," says I.

"Absolutely", says she.

Then, for whatever reason, I had the urge to question: "So, have you had dirty boogers out here too?"

"Sure."

"Well, I've never seen you use a hanky or go a pickin and a grinin..."

"Of course not,", she said without blinking an eye.

And then my always adorable, and usually but not always proper, wife got up out of her chair and started walking toward the coach to start dinner. And as she walked away, and without turning around to get a reaction, she said to me,

"I've been saving mine up to coat your chicken; it's gonna be extra crispy tonight...."

Under Construction- A & B

2011-04-13T22:14:00.003-05:00

Under Construction: A is for Animal..... Since we've changed the make-up of the wash wall from a concrete pour to a real rock wall, the wildlife has been moving into the newly created habitat left and right. We are seeing an influx of lizards, everything from the tiny geckos to the larger chuckwallas and everything in between. There are so many new nooks and crannies, and the far side of the wash still has the weeds and scrub brush for a lizard buffet. It is great to see the new neighbors burrowing and building beside us in the wash....

And speaking of building- the new shed is also under construction. Day one saw the skids leveled, the floor framed and the decking put down. Day two, we put up the framed walls, spacers across the front... and the header went in. On the schedule for tomorrow, wind permitting (it was blowing pretty good by the time we quit for the day) - sheeting the sides and framing the roof, maybe we'll even get the roofing started. The 10 x 10 structure is going up well and looking pretty good so far.....

El Aguila Ha Aterrizado

2011-04-11T21:57:00.005-05:00

So how's your Spanish?

Today, with the landscaping pretty much "closed up" for what we are able to do at this point, we packed up the coach, the grill, the tables, the bike, the smoker, and the van...and made the move from A63 to the corner lot F1. A63 was not a bad lot, but F1 is way bigger- downright roomy- and has mountain views pretty much 360 degrees. We were happy with the work we'd done to improve the lot, but by the time we got situated on the space and got the whole impact of the space with all our stuff nestled into its assigned areas, we were downright thrilled. If there was any question that we had done a lot of work with no real justification, that all went away as soon as we settled in. It just looks good and feels good....in our humble opinion. We have about 20 days left here to get the feel of the place before heading out for the summer run. Next post hopefully displays our new shed. Unless of course we get some awesome new blooming going on before the shed is ready.

Here's what we look like at this point in time. Tomorrow, the materials for the shed are due to arrive. Whoopee!
Clean picture window to improve the view of the mountains:
The new view out the front window...
Mountains out the back too...
Little House In The Desert:
And we built our first Inukshuk! It brings our "arctic" experience to meet our desert foray. No glue, no cement- just rocks in balance.

Have you figured out the translation for the title of the post yet? Yep: The Eagle Has Landed!

"Lots" More...

2011-04-07T17:16:00.014-05:00

Work continues at Lot F1- Desert Gold RV Resort in Brenda, AZ. The heavy lifting is now pretty much complete, and, knock on wood, the backs are holding up pretty well, although some days dealing with the heat has been a challenge. The reverse osmosis system we put in the coach way back when is certainly paying for itself many times over- as the water here, while potable, is not really good drinking water by any means. I would say the water we drink daily now must surely be measured in gallons per day. Not to mention the ice we go through. Were it not for the r/o, we'd be buying and hauling water more often than not.

The old concrete corner is gone on the new lot and the rock retaining wall in the wash is pretty much built. Some fine tuning remains of course- neither Rome nor F1 was built in a day! But considering we hauled the first rocks and dropped them on the lot boundary just two weeks ago, we've come a long way baby. So today we'd like to give you a before and after look at the portions of the lot where we have been working daily. Materials for a storage shed are scheduled to be delivered this coming Tuesday. That's probably good timing because the wind has started kicking up pretty rough and there is some rain in the forecast. April showers bring......well, you know. And maybe, just maybe there will be time for some shade structure too before we get back on the road the beginning of May. Time will tell!

Meanwhile we'd like to express thanks to everyone who stopped by to "marvel" at the transformation of the lot and to cheer us on. And to the grounds crew who brought the heavy equipment over to help us break up and remove the thick concrete pour at the back corner of the lot. I tried to break it out with a hand maul and a chisel- tough going! And another round of thanks to everyone who volunteered a plant or two that they didn't need to the effort. Team work always produces good results, so "Go Team Brenda!"

Concrete Corner Before:
Rock Wall After:
Rock Hauled and ready for placing, Corner Planting....Before:
Side Border Garden...After:
Corner Planting ...After:
Looking Down the Back Wash....Before:
Looking Down the back Wash...After:
The New Corner....After:

And we found two new desert plants blooming today....and both of them were right in our own new back yard landscape: a red pad prickly pair and a red yucca!

Now Blooming

2011-04-05T22:31:00.003-05:00

Like the proverbial, quintessential western desert movie, here's the "What's Playing", i.e. "What's Blooming" in the desert around Quartzsite this week. You can watch for an early look at what is shaping up to be the first bloom showing up on one of the big Saguaros. The "buds" are popping, but no flowering yet. It appears to be a long way ahead of most of it's neighbors, but I hear from the year-rounders that that is often the case: some of the cactus bloom in a sequence and it is sometimes predictable within a region which specimen will do its thing first. The Saguaro flowers are, as best I know, the largest of the blooms, so waiting for the first one is kind of exciting; I'll be keeping my eyes open for the first chance to grab a picture.

What's Playing on lot F1? Well, the cement pour at the back corner of the wash is gone and today we started the back breaking, sweat making, muscle bruising task of laying the first course of mega rock- those big enough to withstand the force of the water on those occasions when the wash is ripping with flash flood currents. Haven't seen the real deal up close and personal yet, but I guess it's the closest thing to a tsunami that the desert will see any time soon. We're trying to build for a worst case scenario. We actually got more done today than I expected to- what with the heat and a mid-day break to join what's left of the Class of Brenda for Happy Tuesday. On the menu today- baked Alaska salmon, roast turkey (the whole big bird), mashed potatoes, corn bread stuffing, gravy, broccoli and bacon salad. Just like Basking Robins----Yummmmmm!

OK, here come the pics.... A few stills and a slide show. Enjoy. Hopefully the next post will begin to reveal the new wash rock wall.

New Beginnings

2011-04-04T00:25:00.004-05:00

Still riding. Still going off to see new things here and there. But two new endeavors have begun in earnest:

First- the desert blooms we have been awaiting are starting to arrive in earnest. Not from the rain, because we have still only had three days of rain since early December. Rather it seems the flowers are being pulled into bloom by the heat. Two days ago, our thermometer read 115 in the sun, 104 in the shade. Lynn's reading on the north side of his rig had 103.9 as confirmation that we really did have that kind of heat and not a busted thermometer. One never knows on April Fool's day! So for this post, I'll just put up a few of the first bloom shots. Much more to come, and I am guessing they will come pretty fast now.

And because we have come to really love this part of the country in the winter and spring months, we have signed on to an annual lease of a spot. The cost is reasonable enough that reserving an entire year is more cost effective than even a month would cost in some other places, like Florida Keys for example. And with fuel costs being what they are right now, honkering down for longer stays seems like a good idea. So we picked a corner lot- pretty much a bare lot (although I forgot to take a picture before our first efforts to improve the lot began). We are permitted, and this is part of the reason we decided to do this, to landscape the lot the way we wish. We can create shade structures, a shed, and a layout of the space to suit what we would like to have. We have missed that "this is ours" feeling that you get when you own a piece of land or a home, and this gives us a bit of that feeling back without having to make a costly and/or long term commitment.It just feels right. And even though we extended this year's stay here by a month, we are still running way short on the time to do all the things we would like to be doing. That being the case, we can make the case for spending more time here....at least until that no longer feels right. So a slide show of the lot and the beginnings of the work will appear in today's post. Days were spent hauling rock from the desert (where allowed). There are stone borders to be built and a rock barrier and retaining wall on the wash that makes the back of the lot. Concrete dumped there to control erosion prior to our taking the lot will be removed and "beautified and fortified." Plants are being introduced where once there were none and this too is only a beginning. A shed is in the planning and some nice shade structures are on the drawing board. We are pleased with the progress and the rate of the progress to date. For sure a lot of neighbors like what they see and are dropping by to offer encouragement..if not a helping hand. A few have wondered why we would put this kind of effort into someone else's property. In a word- FUN! I trust you will see the developments as this and other slides shows will demonstrate. We must be careful though- the last time we put this kind of effort into 'scaping a place it turned into a full time business. Already we have been asked to do some other lots....maybe a few- but no new business; I mean it this time!

And there have been a few other developments with the coming of the heat. Snakes and lizards are starting to venture out. No snake shots this time around, but how about a nice big fat Chuckwalla munching on a weed near our concrete slab?

...and another one of those famous Arizona sunsets!

She-awatha's South West

2011-03-18T15:53:00.005-05:00

Quite a few years back, Marilyn and I were visiting at the home of my parents. I recollect that my father was discussing with my mother what he hoped would become a contribution to one of the South West tribes of Native Americans. They had always loved this part of the country, had Arizona Highways magazine on the shelf ever since I was a kid, and had collected "Indian" artifacts for the museum dad was director of at the time. Not to mention that we as a family often went out hunting for arrowheads.

Without batting an eye or skipping a beat, Marilyn said, "Sam, did I ever tell you that my middle name is Hiawatha?"

Dad turned the phrase on her a bit and from that day on she was often referred to, lovingly of course, as "She-awatha."

So these are some of the shots from New Mexico and Arizona that were waiting to be used in She-awatha's pocket camera that sometimes goes on trips that the big camera doesn't make for one reason or another. It's a bit of a hodge podge, but some pretty good shots of things you may not have seen before, and certainly not through the same lens.... Oh, and a few shots from the birthday celebration Tom and I shared yesterday under the guise of St Patrick's Day!

The Best of She-awatha:

March Madness

2011-03-17T15:24:00.004-05:00

If you read the title of this post and guessed I was going to write about a basketball tournament- get a grip and guess again. Did you miss me much? Haven't posted since March 1. It seems I have been much too busy "researching" to get any writing done. Inspiration comes in spurts, so that is just the way it is. Truth is we have been just plain BUSY doing everything we do here with our growing network of friends. The Dukes, Linda and Wayne stopped by to hang out for a month or so- the local chapter of The I Love Alaska and Prospecting Club just got bigger by two. We've really enjoyed their company again- spent a couple months parked next to their rig at Chicken Gold Camp back in 09. Riding with them while our fearless leaders give them the tour d' desert is just downright fun.

On one of our rides we stopped by Ojo de Aquila (Eye of the Eagle). The "eye" is actually a quite large hole in the ridge of the mountain, but from way down below it looks like a small opening. Quite the unusual formation I would assume given the makeup of the mountains in this area!

We also made a run through the majestic canyons of KOFA National Wildlife Refuge. The passage through the deepest part of the canyon is amazingly colorful and breath-takingly spectacular.

Then too, there has been a lot of "scouting" for desert blooms. It has been a relatively dry winter, but even the two little days of rain we had a while back have the flower "buds" starting to form on the cactus and I am about ready to start photographing the blooms as they open up- one species at a time (so far anyhow).

Today is St. Patrick's Day. That's what they say, but actually it's my birthday and that carries much more weight with me. Tom, our neighbor in the park, had a birthday yesterday, so we will celebrate together later today with our collective group of friends that don't have other plans for the day- it is a busy time here for sure. We smoked two pork butts again over night. That with whatever other dishes others show up with will comprise the evening meal. And we have a jumbo cake that Michelle rounded up somewhere that looks like a traditional St Paddy's Day cake, but is actually a flat of cupcakes covered in a solid sheet of green and yellow icing- the campers version of grab and go dessert. How perfect!

Marilyn and I went out dry-washing for gold yesterday. First time "skunked" on the dry washer as we came up empty in the gold department. The good news is I suppose that now we don't need to worry any more about getting skunked for the first time. But not to come home totally empty, we found a large (several feet think) vein of white quartz running through a ledge of the claim we were on so we broke it out with mall and chisels and loaded it in the Quig to bring home. Why would we do that? I mean all that heavy rock and all.... It seems we settled on an annual site at this campground and will return for this part of the year in coming seasons. It's a nifty campground, and we get to select our site, landscape it as we see fit, put up a storage shed and collect more "stuff." Oh yeah! Amenities at the campground include a desert golf course of 18 holes, a miniature golf course, a pool, a hot tub, a clubhouse with a gym, a craft room, a community events room, a real post office, unlimited trail rides right from the park- no need to trailer ATVs elsewhere for a ride, weekly special events, concerts, and on and on all included in the incredibly modest annual price of a site. Honestly, if they put in assisted living, I might make some long range plans (just kidding). The site we have selected has awesome views of the mountains and an oversize "corner" space. Right now it has nothing for landscaping, but does back up to a "wash" which makes it perfect for what we want to do with it. The previous tenant is still here a while longer, but when he pulls out we can post our progress on the lot as we develop it. Gotta start slowly though and most of the work can be roughed out next season. Birthday Boy Tom and Michelle will be taking the already nicely planted site next to us, and between the two of us we hope to make it a nifty little corner of the campground. Stay tuned!

Now one of the main reasons for this post was the way cactus are "regarded" here in camp. Saguaro cactus are a specifically protected species everywhere in Arizona. But here in our camp, they actually have the "Right of Way" in the roadways throughout the park. Very cool!

Riding With Miss Katie

2011-03-01T18:11:00.004-05:00

We were here before, are here now, and will most probably be here again because good friends were nice enough to invite us in the first place, take us under their wing, and show us the ropes in the desert around Brenda, AZ. Lynn and Jude, and their collective group of friends which we refer to as "The Class of Brenda High" have made our time here exciting, memorable, and just downright fun. The first time we were here two years ago, Linda, wife of the fabulously entertaining Farmer Don made us what we have since referred to as our "yearbook" of our stay here. It came complete with shots of all the individuals in the group, pictures of the places we rode to, parties we held in the campground, candid shots of the more colorful individuals in the group. All this was created "unbeknownst" to us, captions were added, and it was presented to us when we were ready to head out for parts unknown. It was a touching moment that we have relished ever since and we pull the "yearbook" out on a regular basis to enjoy it over and over.

So when Lynn and Jude went to pick up one of Jude's "oldest and bestest friends" (I think that's how she phrased it) for her first visit to Brenda, we knew the process would be repeated for another first timer to the group. And we were delighted to be a tiny part of her visit to Brenda. A ride was planned. That's what they do here; among all the other activities....they ride.

And what a day it was. Beautiful from the outset. We headed out to the backside of the Southern Cross Mine complex and explored there. We rode through scenic mountain passes, across some dusty flatlands (you can't appreciate the desert fully without tasting the dust) and then back into the hills to the Arizona Fish and Game "waterhole"- a man-made water collection and disbursement system to provide much needed water to game in the desert which attracts everything from the smallest bats and lizards to Big Horn Sheep and deer, and, who knows, maybe even a mountain lion on occasion. That was our lunch stop for the day. Circle the chairs instead of the wagons for lunch, munch a bunch, tell some stories, and maybe even laugh at someone whose chair falls over (and doesn't get hurt).

Then off to the next stop. The Bouse Fisherman. Not a petroglyph, but a geoglyph, or Intaglio, a drawing or impression made in the dark gravel of the desert some 400 years ago. It took some looking to be able to make out the entire figure of the fisherman, with his spear, the sun, the waves and the fish,but it's all there if you take the time and find the right angle from which to view it. In the area of the fisherman, we also found, some bird nests in the chollo cactus, a desert rat's nest and some ant nests.

We arrived back at camp after our fifty-some mile trek in time to celebrate the day with a happy hour in the tent. That served as preparation for grabbing a bottle (or a box if you will) of wine and hopping back on the bikes for a jaunt up the hill beside camp for a sunset ceremony. Being responsible adults, we surely didn't want to set off firecrackers in the dry desert, so Lynn came up with an ingenious solution- a bottle rocket made from a 2 liter diet coke and a tube of mentos candy (don't believe it? CLICK HERE). You'll see the dramatic eruption in the slide show if you pay attention.

As is the rule, we pretty much laughed until the sunset quieted things down with its grandeur. A wonderful day. It was great to see Jude and Katie enjoying each others company so thoroughly. And a betting man would guess that somewhere tonight Katie's probably paging through yet another yearbook from the Class of Brenda High.

....Some Rain Must Fall.

2011-02-19T22:05:00.003-05:00

Like everyone else, I've had my share of ups and downs. The proverbial "Into each life some rain must fall" has not escaped me just like it probably has not escaped you. But of late, I've been on a roll, and in fact, though it may seem hard to believe- I have not had a single day of rain (speaking literally now; done with the metaphor for the time being) since we left Florida in mid-December. Something on the order of 63 days now totally without rain. That is an unbelievable run at sunshine, even if the good Lord had to throw in a chill here and there and a stiff breeze or two just to make things interesting. I'll take it, love it, especially in a year where everyone else and his brother has been hammered by crappy winter weather. Those several among you who have always chided me for bringing the bad weather with me when I came your way are going to have to lighten up at least for now. You know who you are (Joan, who?).

But a few days back, the writing was on the wall....actually it was on the Yahoo! weather report, but you know what I mean. The rain was coming. It didn't seem like we would be able to "duck it" (get it?) this time. And sure enough. It rained hard at times last night. It was raining and a blowing when we got up this morning. And it looks as though there could be a bit more tonight and on in to early tomorrow. But why write about a rainy day? It's no biggie, right? Oh, but it is! This is the desert. For real. They don't get much rain here, and when they do get it this time of year, it is the forerunner of good things to come- the desert in bloom. And in truth, one of our biggest reasons for wanting to be here at this time is to be here when the desert begins to bloom. Two years ago we "pulled out of Dodge" too soon. We had seen many beautiful sights, and a few species in flower, but not the significant bursting forth that the desert is capable of. We vowed to ourselves then that we would come back to be here, to experience that as soon as we could arrange to do so...and here we are. Unless, the expectation of the mind is playing tricks on me, the desert foliage, such as it is, began to green up already in just a day. And a few small daisy like flowers popped out immediately alongside the road today. They weren't open yesterday. We didn't get enough rain yet to make the "dry" washes run with water, but presumably that will come at some point heading into Spring. But already the so-called creosote bushes (no relationship to the wood preservative of the same name) are throwing off the sweet smell that is characteristic of them whenever they get wet with rain. It is a pleasant change from the smell of the desert dust, which also seems to have its own distinct aroma- not bad, just not terrific.

So knowing that the rain was coming, we set out to accomplish a few things we felt we needed to do before it wet things down. Armed with our dry mining apparatus packed in the van and a map that Lynn was kind enough to print off his computer, we set out to find the locations of two mining claims. We had been to them two years ago, in a follow-the-leader- type situation and thought with the maps and our new hand-held gps unit that we should be able to find them on our own. I've been wrong before- so this was not the first time! While we had the map, the gps, and some area familiarity, we just didn't have enough way-points noted to be able to stay on the necessary track. So we did what most people do when they are "lost"- we went in circles. It didn't help matters any that one of the printed instructions to the GPAA claim told those seeking it to "keep to the right of the main traveled path." For starters, we should NOT have stayed to the right. And anyone with minimal experience on desert trails, and especially those with NO experience riding at the head of the pack, that tells you they know which is the "main traveled path" from the hundreds of criss-crossing paths that wrap around the base of mountains and run through washes and up the other side a hundred yards "downstream" may or may not be telling you an outright lie, but he is most assuredly suffering from delusions of grandeur. So after 3 hours of circling the wagons (I love it when a theme repeats itself) and after having taken some wrong turns on tight paths and putting a few scratches (sometimes referred to as "desert pin striping) on the van, we limped back to camp feeling less than accomplished. We had tried and failed- make that "not succeeded"-but we had learned some valuable lessons. We learned what info we needed to have in order to be successful on the next attempt. We needed way-points. A lot of them. Latitude and Longitude coordinates for points on the map where-ever a turn needed to be made accurately. More detailed mapping. And again, with Lynn's help we gathered the materials to work on that over the next couple days. There was a feeling that maybe we still wouldn't reach our destination and we hemmed and hawed about trying again on our own for two days.

But ultimately we decided to go in with the ATV and not the van. More maneuverable in tight quarters- meaning that we could turn around a whole lot easier if we got off course. Marilyn entered 18 way-points to each custom trip to the two destinations after I used several computer programs to determine what they needed to be. Mapsource gave me the routes, Google earth gave me the topo features. The Honda ATV also has a "bread crumb" gps unit built in, so we marked our trail at each and every intersection and turn. If nothing else, we could track ourselves back to where we started. This time it all came together and we found not one, but both of our destinations, and with enough time to spare before we needed to head back out to the van that we did some exploring of other claims while we were back in there. Track one covered about 7 miles each way in and out. Track two about 6 miles each way in and out. We noted each and every way-point in and out for learning purposes. Using a gps in the desert where there are no real roads is way different than putting in a town and driving down the interstate.

Now if I made any of this sound like for one minute we were at any risk of getting really lost, let me clear that up. Not finding a needle in a haystack is not the same thing as not knowing where the haystack is. I bring in the haystack analogy in deference to our friend Farmer Don, who while leading a ride one day pointed out a valuable but obvious tip and taught me a valuable lesson:

"Just look around," he said. "The flat top mountain over there on the horizon is the direction home. The water towers on the side of the mountain mark the campground. There's a ranch you can see way over there from any high point, and a cattle yard over there. The cell phone towers atop the sharp peak mark trails on either side of Rt 10." Now paying attention to those things instead of the rider in front of me and behind me, I never felt for one second like I would be unable to find my way out should push come to shove.

So before the rain arrived we had located two spots we will return to when things dry up again and get back to some prospecting. But what to do on a rainy day in the desert? There was a chili cook off being held up in Wendon. Where is Wendon, you ask? We drove northeast in the general direction of Salome, AZ. We had to go past the village of Hope, AZ. The good folks of Hope were nice enough to put out a big sign welcoming visitors and passers by to Hope. They also put up another sign to let us know: Your (sic) Beyond Hope. Gonna need some work on the spelling on the sign, but clever and memorable- I like that. But come to think of it, it may not be the first time someone told me I was beyond hope.

pistachios on the tree

The chili cook off was a hoot, but the under cover areas were pretty limited and the rain and damp and cold combination forced our decision not to hang around all afternoon. Instead we went on a local sight seeing trip. We found a pistachio orchard with a few nuts still hanging on to the winter boughs. And yes, in the desert and miles away from any large body of salt water, or any water for that matter, we came across a farm for sale with an address of Ocean View Drive. Very funny, these locals! Especially on a rainy day....

Happy Tuesday @ 2:00

2011-02-15T20:09:00.006-05:00

This is the second in a two part series based on "Happy Tuesday." To read Part I, which sets the stage.... CLICK HERE.

The power of positive thinking tells us that we can do the virtually impossible. Maybe. Maybe not. But one thing is for sure, the gang here at Desert Gold in Brenda, Arizona, can use it to take an ordinary day of the week and make it anything but! Welcome to Happy Tuesday!

We gather at the big tent. It's a something by something tent that provides shade when it's needed, protection from the wind when it's needed, and a safe haven for the bar, the condiments, the paper goods, some cooking space, and all sorts of items that would otherwise need to be dragged in and packed away after each gathering were it held out in the open. And it provides shelter from the rain. But then, much as I hate to say it to those of you who have had a very "weather" kind of year- we haven't seen a drop of the stuff since mid December when we came out this way. Maybe not you want to hear; but just sayin'.

Whatever other activities may be on the docket for the day, one thing is constant: Dinner is at 2:00. It's a pot luck. Maybe more like a buffet. Everyone brings something and everything they bring is good! Really good! Entres. Veggies. Novelty "tastes." Desserts." Be still, my heart!

It may be 5 o'clock somewhere. It may be Happy Hour for parrot-heads in Margarita-ville. But in Brenda, it is Happy Tuesday, so the select drink specialty of the day is served as an appetizer to the buffet line. Today's specialty item- lemonade. Lemons from a full bag of fresh ones. Sugar from a big bowl. Ice from a freezer chest. And vodka... from, well, a bottle of vodka. Not too much. Just enough to make you feel like an adult. Flavor? Sip it slow and wait for the glow. Lynn transports his "Chicken" grilling skills to the "Brenda Blenda" and presto- out pours a desert smoothy of extraordinary richness.

It's a regular gathering of friends for good times and good eats. A day without pressure. A "timeout" for seniors. A day for the young at heart to "play" their age, not act it. And it's downright fun.

Golf. Of COURSE.

2011-02-15T18:40:00.005-05:00

I'm interested in a lot of things. Golf has never been one of them. And while I consider myself much more of a "personal commentator" than a reporter, I none the less tagged along (with permission) on a golf outing here at Desert Gold campground today. I wanted to see what went on out there in the desert. This is NOT your typical golf course!

So today I'll be offering some comments both on what I saw and what I learned, with the disclaimer that absolutely none of what I will write about today has much of anything to do with anything- except one thing- F.U.N.

You see, today is Happy Tuesday here. Just like the other days of the week, it comes around each and every week. For most people, Tuesday is the day after the first day of the work week, the day before "hump" day, and two days before the downhill slide to Friday which we all thank God for...TGIF. It's never been attached to a weekend- either at the front or the back. In short: it's not special. Ever. Except here. Where it is special every week. Happy Tuesday, it seems has been designated a weekly day of play. You can get a little work done if you must, but only if you do it in limited amounts between the designated "fun" activities.

Now Desert Gold is not a big campground, at least by my standards, but it is well thought out and inhabited by an energetic and playful lot of campers. So Tuesday's schedule can include any of the many activities available to campers here. There's a swimming pool (wet volleyball anyone?), a hot tub, a bingo parlor, an exercise room, a craft room, rec room, a sing-a-long room. There's a free car wash and oil change area for those "honey do-s" and I suppose that is work or "happy" depending on your point of view. There are ATV trips and rock collecting trips, and just a whole host of things you could choose to do any day of the week. But Happy Tuesday is a controlled situation....

And it begins with a round of golf! Now before you go picturing acres of lush green manicured grass and stately palms, caddies with heavy bags full of costly clubs, and electric powered carts that get the exercise instead of you..., remember this is the desert. You have a better chance of finding gold, lizards, rocks, and sharp prickly things on the course than you do a single blade of grass. The course- all 18 holes of it- is all natural. The rocks, the cactus, the Saguaros, the scrub brush, the mesquite trees and creosote bushes have neither been planted nor moved. They are where they are where they have always been. Talk about hazards; they are everywhere. Golf is challenging. But even walking can be difficult. And a golf ball driven with a small iron and by someone with a strong swing- well, sir, it goes where-ever it wants to go, especially if it hits a rock (which is COMMON). It doesn't roll down the fairway, it ricochets like a steel ball in an old time pin ball machine. Before you can yell "fore" that little sucker ball can come right back and smack you right between the eyes if'n it has a mind to.... And while this can be problematic in its own right, it can also be a blessing, because at least when that happens you know where your ball went- which is an entirely different matter, as some balls that veer off can be down right impossible to find- no matter what color ball your are playing with.

So as seeing is believing, we'll use some stills and a slide show to get the point across. But not before I show off my new golf knowledge. Now I've heard a few of these terms before but only had a vague idea what they actually meant. So let me tell you what I leaned about golf out there. "Knowledge is good!", he said with a grin on his face.

PAR- that is the number of whacks you are supposed to take with a bent metal weapon called a club to get the ball from the Tee ( as in I'm Tee'd off) to the hole. In the desert the hole is three feet across, not three inches and it's still darn hard to land in.

Score- this is the number of shots each player has used to reach the current hole based on the number of "holes" they have played. The score is not important! (but everyone seemed to know what theirs was :-))

Eagle- this is what a player gets if he makes it to the hole in two shots less than the posted par.

Birdie- this is what the player gets if he reaches the hole with one fewer stroke than that of the posted par.

Bogie- this is the score on the hole of a golfer who takes one more stroke than par; it is not what forms in your nose while you are out in the desert breathing all that dust....and it's pronounced differently too.

Double Bogie- this is what the golfer gets if he hits more rocks than normal on any hole and uses two strokes more than par. And finally:

Flat Ass Lousy- this is what they call the golfer that uses three or more strokes than that called for by the PAR.

Wow. That was a lot to remember. I hope I got it right.

The weekly golf tournaments kick off each Happy Tuesday. I'm happy they let me tag along to cover the event. What do you think the odds are they're ever going to let me out on the course again after this?

Street Legal - The Final Word On The Matter

2011-02-14T16:12:00.002-05:00

Over two years ago now, we visited this part of Arizona for the first time. We were taking the Honda Rincon “GPScape” ATV on its maiden voyage to the desert southwest. Arizona has some of the most liberal riding laws in the nation and we were bound and determined to be able to take full advantage of them. But that would require understanding the laws and abiding by them, as there are significant fines and penalties for not being in compliance. This seems more than fair. They are giving riders a lot of leeway, so playing by the rules is surely a gesture of good faith in return.

But what were the rules, exactly? Our first stop was the Red Rock area near Sedona and because they have lots of tourist information, we stopped at the Chamber of Commerce information Center down town. Surely they would know the ins and outs of the law and be able to guide tourists on how to play by the rules. And sure enough, they had a nice little three-fold pamphlet that purported to say what could, could not, and must and must not be done. But even that pamphlet had a few discrepancies, so we sauntered on up to the desk to ask our questions.

Can a “bike” (my reference to an ATV - All Terrain Vehicle-a gas powered toy that will take you just about anywhere you tell it to…) that is registered in another state be driven here?

Is a permit required for use in Arizona, especially if you are not a resident here?

What items constitute “street legal”- the ability to configure the bike so as to be legal and permissible to ride on paved or “improved” roadways in the state of Arizona?

There were some other questions as well, but this will get us started. The nice lady at the counter at that point in time was not sure she knew the answers, but she informed that “the guy who will surely know will be back from lunch any minute now.” When he returned from lunch, he ventured his opinions, but he too was not “sure” and called in another “ranger” to the conference…. We left the tourist bureau with answers but they were a mixed bag and we didn’t really have a lot more confidence that we understood things much better than when we walked through the door.

From there, we traveled to a number of other venues in search of truth, justice, and the American way….make that the Arizona way. We talked to the police. We talked to government offices. We talked to outfitters and guides. And over and over we got the same thing: We think you can do this. We think you can do that. But we’re really not sure and if we are wrong and the officer who pulls you over for a check does not agree with us- well- that could be bad.

Ultimately, everyone begged off on the definitive answers we sought, but decided that if we traveled to the Department of Motor Vehicles in another Town, surely we could get the appropriate answers. Well, I’m not one to challenge authority without just cause, so off we went. Once at the office of the DMV, we took a number and “parked it.” When our number was called some time later- you guessed it- the lady behind the counter was not sure of the answer to our questions. But she allowed that if we had a bit more time, we could get an appointment with someone in the inner office that was in charge of “statutes” and would most certainly be able to answer all our questions. And sure enough, that individual spoke with great clarity and authority, and even went so far as to print out a few of the statutes for us to carry on board in the event of some problem or question as to whether or not someone whose bike was registered out of state could ride in the desert, ride on the roads, even ride into town without fear of doing something wrong.

We felt much better. We felt legitimate. We felt legal. We felt like any challenge could be won should it come to that.

We rode. We rode in the desert. We rode around town. We even rode into the Pilot fuel stop, parked our seemingly midget bike beside the 18 wheelers and fueled up right alongside them. We were proud. This was cool! And there aren’t many, if any, other places where you can do this.

But were we street legal? I mean really?

Now fast forward to today. Well, not actually today, but this most recent visit to Arizona. Yuma. Yes we rode there. We rode in the desert. We rode around town. We even rode into town and fueled up beside the big rigs yet again. Then on to Brenda. We rode in the desert. We rode in the town, down the highway, across the street, where-ever it felt right to be riding…we rode. Until one night with a gathering of friends, one of the guys with a lot more Arizona experience than we have looked at us and said: “You know, you’re not street legal!”

What? Huh? How can this be? We have been to the tourist bureau and they told us what to do. We have been to the police and they told us what to do. We have been to the bureaucrats who make their living telling people what they can and can’t do…and they told us what to do. But more importantly, we have had a sitting with the statue person at the DMV who told us, complete with written documentation: You are legal in Florida for how Florida allows you to ride (which by the way is NOT on the street- ever) so you can ride in Arizona for 30 days the way Arizona allows you to ride. All you need to do is have brake lights, headlights, an 8ft “whip” with a signal flag, use hand turn signals…..You are good to go. And so we went.

But this guy was saying we needed a sticker, a new title, a new registration, a license plate with a light over it, and on and on.

Well, the mere thought that we were NOT street legal sent shivers down the spine. Better check on all of this, before our luck wears off if in fact this new reality is the truth. The very idea of the reported 700 dollar fine? Not good. So back to the police we went. This time to the Quartzsite Police, where the desk officer agreed with what we had been told. We needed to do pretty much just as he had said….

So back to the DMV we went- this time in Parker. Again the nice lady behind the desk knew just what we needed and promptly set about taking care of the paperwork that would do the job. We felt good that finally things would be as they should be. Or would they? The police officer back in town had assured us this would NOT require giving up our Florida registration and insurance. But as we signed the last of the Arizona documents, the clerk asked us to “surrender your Florida registration documents and change your insurance to Arizona.”

But, but, but, the nice police in Quartzsite assured us we did not need to do that!

“Yea, they don’t know about that part of it down there. You must. And besides,” said she, “just call the insurance company and they will gladly switch the insurance from Florida to Arizona. No problem!”

OH NO THEY WON’T! The insurance company it seemed had other ideas about how to handle that. First cancel the old policy and send us a letter that reads in part- “you no longer have insurance with us….” But didn’t we just take out a new policy with you for Arizona. Yes, but first we must cancel the old one before the new one take effect. What a good idea.

Piles of paperwork later, and a bunch of (two days to be exact) running around, the title, the registration, the insurance, the license plate with a light over it, the red flag, the rear view mirrors, the tail lights, the head lamps with high and low beams, the electric horn, the brake that can be operated by hand or foot, the red reflectors, the muffler in good working condition, the seat and footrest for the operator, the fuel tank cap AND the OHV (Off Highway Vehicle) sticker were all sanctioned and done up as they were supposed to be.

Ride tall, ride proud, be at ease. You are Street Legal now!

I think....

Circle The Wagons Ride

2011-02-11T12:45:00.007-05:00

Lynn and Jude were off visiting Chicken Mike and Miss Lou at their new digs in Tubac and taking in the Tucson Gem and Mineral show, so in their absence someone needed to step up and lead the rides. And for this ride, Don was just the fellow to do that. Now Don is just about as friendly and as funny a guy as God ever put on the face of the earth. He is a joy! He is an excellent rider and drives a big "side by" that is really great because he can carry chairs and spare fuel for those of us that are size and gear restricted. And he knows lots of good things to head out to discover from our camp here in Brenda. Like all of us out there, Don carries a GPS. Note: I said "carries." I did not say "uses," although he can use one with the best of them, Don prefers to navigate by the stars. Well, OK, not the stars, since rides take place during daylight hours. But Don likes to navigate by the sun (and hey that's a star) and the moon and the mountains and other desert profiles and elevations that are visible to those who pay attention to their position on the horizon. He is good at it. But because there are literally thousands of trails and washes from which to choose one's path, not using the GPS can, and does, occasionally lead to dead ends that were not anticipated, or a path that just plain can't take you where you actually wanted to go. We have come to call them "circle the wagons." You might think that turning around and reversing directions in the desert would be a piece of cake. Oh, contraire! Many of the trails, especially those that pass through the mountains, are narrow and "single lane." Turning around in a place where there isn't room to do that can be downright dangerous. Finding a place for a turn-a-bout for a single rider, let alone a train of riders that then have to pass each other, can be difficult in its own right. So when this does happen, and we eventually find the turn around opportunity, we like to "follow the leader" and raise our non-accelerator hand in the air and make the sign of "circle the wagons." If this happens once or twice it is considered par for the course. If it happens multiple times, it starts to become a running gag, complete with whooping and hollering. If it happens way more than it should, then it really starts to be fun! And that was more or less the case on this ride- hence the title for the post.

I miss Marlene! What does that have to do with anything? Because Marlene is not in camp right now. Were she in camp, she no doubt would have been on this ride. And that is important to the story why exactly? Because in true Western fashion, Marlene carries a gun. And I hear tell she's not afraid to use it on those found to be "wondering aimlessly" in the desert. And she has been known to shoot Don on more than one occasion for making it necessary to circle the wagons. Good thing for Don that the gun Marlene carries is a squirt gun. True Grit he gets wet every time he has to make the group "about face" but aside from getting a chill on a cool and windy day, "wet" in the desert does not last long and there are no long term results or scars from getting shot. I have never seen her gun, but it must be pretty big and for sure, according to local legend, her aim is without question at the marksman level.

So on this ride we first visited Yuma Mine (as it is shown of the gps) although Don also refers to it as Fiddler's Mine. There wasn't much material available to find out about it but certainly there must have been copper in that mine judging from the Chrysocolla veins (low grade copper ore on the edge and oxidation zone of copper ore deposits and a gorgeous blue mineral often mistaken for turquoise) that were still readily visible outside the closed off portion of the mine. And signs posted indicated there was still activity at the mine although on this day there was none.

Then we poked and prodded our way around the hills and eventually came across probably another half dozen or so old mines- each with its own points of interest. There were many active claims posted in the area and I'd bet you rags to riches there was gold coming out of some of them- the signs were just that strong. I brought a few small baggies of sand from the wash where we stopped for lunch to "test" for small particles of gold, which I haven't gotten around to doing yet. I figure that is the best possible way to recycle plastic sandwich bags ever!

That's Don in the orange hat

After a few more "circle the wagons" and a lot more fun and great riding, we eventually headed back for camp. We stopped to snap a picture when we crossed the CAP Canal- a canal that carries irrigation water through the desert. The two Flattop mountains on the horizon pointed the way, and from our elevation before leaving the hills we could see some small communities and a ranch or two that confirmed the path home. Closer to camp, there are three water towers and some cell phone towers that lead you back home too. But who needs that? Just tuck in the dust behind Don and put some grit on your teeth and some dust in your eyes! Keep rolling. It's almost Beer-thirty!

A Very Goldilocks Ride

2011-02-06T13:41:00.006-05:00

All ATV rides are good rides- so long as you start and finish safe and sound. But I've noticed that sometimes I have some "drathers" while I'm out there. Yes. Drathers. As in, I drather go a bit slower. I drather go a bit faster. I drather it was a bit less technical. I drather it were more technical and challenging. I drather have dressed warmer, or I drather I wasn't so hot. I drather stop and take a photo. I drather stop now for the day. I drather keep right on riding. Or I drather stop for a minute and "see a man about a race horse."

So as drathers go, this ride was truly the Goldilocks ride: Not too fast. Not too slow. Not too tough. Not too soft. Not too hot. Not too cold. Nope. This ride was JUSSSSSST right! And not just because the conditions of the ride were so great- they were- but even more because we were able to incorporate so many excellent points of interest along the way.

The ride from the campground - I think it was probably 5 or 6 miles to start out - climaxed in a downhill thrill that was pretty challenging and involed a long and steep downhill run over large and loose boulders. This served as a perfect warm up, and the loop that we would eventually make during our tour essentially began and ended at this point.

First we ventured up and to the dead end of a canyon wash that was amazingly scenic. We did just a bit of hiking up the "dry waterfall" that essentially creates a point beyond which it would not be possible to ride. There were plenty of signs that prospectors had worked on both large and small scales in the canyon, both recently and going back quite a period of time. There are areas that have been mined all over the hills here near Quartzsite and that is part of the thrill of exploring the area. As the ad says: exploring with friends that have been there and done that? Priceless!

It wasn't too much longer before we stopped off to visit the Welcome Center. This is not a stop for maps and brochures; it is the term for a place of endearment where an old stone cabin stands among the ruins of the old Apache Mine, which is also a new claim posted by the GPAA. A sign posted at the so-called Welcome Center is posted below. People leave all kinds of intriguing items at the Center, so it's always worth a visit to see what's new.

Then a challenging section of the trip designed to transport us over the mountain to Dripping Springs. At the bottom of a vast canyon valley, a tiny spring created a riparian buffer zone, where we found a lot of bird life, tiny ground squirrels (who were clearly disposed to share our lunch) and some beautiful flowers we had not come across previously. It was one of the prettiest spots I think I have ever come across out in the desert- and that's saying something!

Next we found a geocache at a desert pet cemetery called "They Were Loved." Lynn and Don, our official geocachers, logged the find for later downloading, removed the selected item from the treasure trove and replaced it with a contribution of their own. At least that is my understanding of the process.

A bit later we raced down a BIG wash, playing in the deep and loose gravel and sand until we came to a limestone outcropping that had some petroglyphs and an in-rock equivalent of what we know from Honduras and Native American sites as "piedras." In Honduras, more specifically "piedra de mais" or stone used to grind corn grain." We have only ever seen them as a stone roller and a stone plate or bowl- but these piedras, clearly used for the same purpose, had been long-time ground right into the massive body of rock beside the wash. How hard someone must have worked to process the grains that caused such deep impressions in the rock...and also in my mind now that I have seen them.

Our final stop along our route was below the giant "Q." The Q is painted on the mountain top that overlooks Quartzsite. You would see it clearly from any plane flying over...and you would see it plainly driving by town on the highway, or even while walking around town. What you would not see from those locales, that we did see, was the remnants of the old Quartzsite mine that stands just below the Q. As we didn't know the original name of the mine, I think I'll just refer to it as the Q mine. It was most impressive, looming large over the town that stands composed of tents and RV's and bringing the desert back to life as though for the next round of the gold rush.

From here, it was about 15 miles as the crow flies back to our Brenda home base. Ride, Goldilocks, ride!

Riding For Geodes

2011-02-03T17:08:00.003-05:00

Attention: Rock-hounds! No heavy trail riding today. No camping. No dry-washing for gold or silver today either. Nope. Today we set off with a small group of riders organized by our campground (Desert Gold) in the Brenda/Salome area of Arizona. The mission; find a geode. If you wish to learn more about geodes, I found a real good link for you to check out and you can see it by CLICKING HERE. But for general discussion sake, a geode is a roughly round shaped rock that at some point in time was a bubble in molten lava. As the bubble cooled, crystals formed inside the bubble. And just like a bubble, the inside of the geode is essentially hollow except for the crystals that have formed on the inside wall of the bubble. The inside of the geode is hidden from the eye of the collector or prospector. They can be the size of a golf ball, a baseball, a soft ball, or they can reach the size of giant boulders. To find out what's inside, you must either break the geode with a geology pick or cut it with a rock saw. Some are nothing much. Some are pretty. Some are amazing. Today, most of the ones I found had quartz crystals in them. Amethyst crystals are the most sought after specimens and I couldn't come up with any that had amethyst on this outing. Below is a picture of a few that I brought back to camp to be photographed up close. The four pieces in the lower left section of the picture are geodes that I have not yet opened. I wanted to see if I could access a rock saw to get a clean cut and see how that would work out.

And then here is the best picture I was able to get of the crystals inside the geode:

In case you haven't already figured this out, the deserts of the south west are a great place to look for geodes. I dug a hole on top of a small desert mound where geodes have been found many times before- to the point where they call this ride "the geode mine"- although it is not a mine at all, just a good patch of dirt where your odds of finding a geode are pretty good. I poked around for quite a while and then happened upon a spot where the hole I was digging produced most of the geode specimens shown in the picture above.

It was another new experience in the desert. I was happy digging in the dirt, like I always am. I was also happy I wore my long johns as the sun was out but the air was crisp and cold. What follows is a slide show of our day in search of geodes....

A Visit From The Proctologist

2011-02-01T13:49:00.005-05:00

Not MY Proctologist! You think I'm ever gonna write about that? Well, maybe, but certainly not here and not now! No, I'm talking about the coach's proctologist. The guy who comes out to your site with specialized equipment made to clean out your black and gray holding tanks and also your water heater tank if you are so equipped. A service that eliminates the plaguing problem of holding tank sensors that insist your tank is full or nearly full even though you know darn well you just emptied it 12 minutes ago.

Steve Korsvall and his son Lars, The RV Proctologist out of Quartzsite, Arizona, showed up right on time for a 10 AM appointment to "git 'er done." When was the last time your doctor showed up on time? As with all good medical meetings, we discussed the "problem," diagnosed the malady, and set out on a course of action to remedy the situation. Despite having heard to the contrary that proctological exams are uncomfortable and painful, this one turned out to be neither. And I hasten to add that as medical treatments go, this one was, relatively speaking, also very affordable. When the doctors finished their work, the "problem" was gone. That is my kind of medical results!

Big Girls Ride Too

2011-01-31T11:54:00.004-05:00

Enough already with the Big Boy Rides. Big girls like to ride too, so before leaving our Yuma venue, we all planned a COED ATV ride and camping trip into the desert. Now this ride was shorter and less technical than the other rides have been. Discrimination? Not hardly! A matter of time and preference. Still, the planning for this ride had to be carefully coordinated. Why? Because the ride was planned to be made on the Barry Goldwater Live Fire Bombing Range just outside the Yuma Foothills, from where the ride began. All riders required personal permits. We traveled to the Marine base to apply for those permits. We filed travel itinerary for the duration of the trip. What could possibly go wrong? And I will say at the onset- nothing did go wrong. Still, there is considerable "illegal alien" activity across the range, and in fact our campsite was set roughly 2 1/2 miles from Yodaville, a "town' made up of welded cargo containers and painted to resemble a small town for the intended use of practicing urban bombing accuracy. Apparently their accuracy is pretty darn good- as no errant missiles hit our desert wash campsite- which was one thing that could have really ruined our day. In truth, there was no firing activity while we were out there- which I suppose makes it a bit less challenging, but hey, I'm good with that!

So once again, the story will pretty much be told by the photos and the captions. We had a good size "pack" of riders. Those who often ride together wore STP sweatshirts in maroon. STP? A vehicle special lubricant? Not here. STP: "Scooter Trash Pack" I didn't recall hearing the story behind how the group chose it's name, but as with most of their stories, I'm guessing it is a good one. The trip covered two days and one night camping. While there was some real good fireside cooking going on out there, no lie, we also had three giant bags of cold, fried chicken. Think of it as a campfire appetizer to prepare the palette for hot dogs.

Watch the photos for the "ooga" horn on the back of our bike. It was our take home present from the White Elephant Christmas party held a few days before our ride. We exchanged blind presents, then endured the slings and arrows of the trade to see what we would wind up with. There were some good items! A solar powered and lighted wind chime. An old Igloo cooler. A gigantic 12 volt spotlight. A red wine bottle humming bird feeder. A broken vase water feature, just to name a few. There was a present for everyone, and a good laugh for all as well.

When we were not out riding, camping, singing karaoke, having a beverage or two, shopping, doing dinner, or just otherwise engaged, we used the beautiful equipment (that scooper-digger as my nephew used to call them as a kid) that Gary and Judy placed on our campsite (a new investment lot they recently purchased) for our use while camped there....... we are leaving with about 7 oz of nice clean gold, AND we left a hole suitable for the installation of the electric to the new lot now that we are out of the way. Who knew Yuma Foothills Lots would be so rich in gold ore? (Just kidding) But actually, one of the largest ever of Arizona Gold resources was discovered just a short distance away- the Fortuna de Oro gold mine which we visited while on our ride onto the Goldwater Range. Do I look good in a hard hat or what?

As always, the time we spend with our friends and their friends makes life so much more of an adventure!

The Big Boys Ride Again

2011-01-25T17:01:00.004-05:00

Two years ago we were here in Yuma, Arizona. I had a new Quad (ATV), a spiffy new helmet that made me look like Speed Racer if not feel like him, and a group of friends who wanted to take me on a multi-day desert ride/camping trip. It was the ride of a lifetime. It was really that good. In fact it was so good, I considered leaving things at that, and not going out on such a ride again. I mean, while spoil a record of exhilaration and survival to tempt the fates yet again? But nothing doing- the gang headed back out into the desert night again. Another great ride. A manly ride. A 240 mile ride in two days time. A somewhat more experienced Greg mounted up and rode. But some things had not changed. The "guys" still move across the desert passes at something approaching twice the speed of......not sound, but me. So keeping up is always a challenge. Still, we accomplished "faster" and "further" than I had certainly ever done, so put another notch in the old gun belt and call it good.

In part because I had more riding time under that belt, it was not as terrifying as the previous experience- just a good, solid, hard, fast ride! I had a good time. But looking back, two of the posts I made on that first experience are, to this day, perhaps the two most widely read, re-read, reviewed, and appreciated articles I have ever produced. And I still like looking back at them myself which I suppose means they have stood the test of time- even with me. So since "ain't no way" I could ever top those tales, here are links for one more look if you have the time and inclination. But first a photo or two from this year's ride....

THE BIG BOY RIDE: Click here to see this 2009 post.

RIDING INTO THE DESERT NIGHT: Click here to see this 2009 post

HOW THE WEST WAS...........FILMED!

2011-01-16T01:41:00.003-05:00

Old Tucson Studios. Over 300 Western movies were filmed here. Rio Bravo. Tombstone. Hombre. Outlaw Josey Wales. And television: Little House On The Prairie filmed here for many years. And High Chaparral. Basically if it was a good old Western movie or a good old Western on "the tube"- it was probably filmed here. Titans like John Wayne kicked the same dirt in the streets of the set that we kicked today. The "lot" is filled with props that are classics- from Laura Ingall's wedding dress and the sign over Olsen's Mercantile, to Wanted Posters of Wyatt Earp, guns and horse troughs, and the facades of many a recognizable store fronts.

For us it was a stroll down the path of history, told in the form of film. I think it's gonna have me watching a whole lot more Westerns than I've watched in while.

The slide show is filmed in Sepia. It just seemed appropriate....

Comparison Shopping

2011-01-15T11:51:00.004-05:00

On the way back from the Desert Museum we stopped by our favorite local "Mexican-centric" grocery store. Stores like this carry specialty and ethnic products you are not likely to get, or even see, in most regular grocery chains. In addition to unusual goodies, the prices at such stores are much more reasonable. Fruits, vegetables, staples like beans and rice are not pre-packaged- just select your own, weigh it....and go. We only needed to pick up a few things.

Let's make an interactive game out of this. Here is our shopping list and a picture of our "haul." Price out our shopping list at YOUR local grocery store and report in (blog or Facebook) as to what the same items sell for where you live. Should be fun and interesting....

5 lbs Naval Oranges (not 5 oranges)
3 lbs lemons (not 3 lemons)
1.5 lbs package corn tortillas (not a package of 8)
large bag red licorice (Twizzlers)
3- 1 lb packages of ground beef/pork HOT Chorizo
1 qt chicken broth (store brand)
1 can diced tomatoes (store brand)
2 large bottles of hot sauce (premium brands)
1 lb bag Napalitos (small pieces of prickly pear cactus)

All this, and we got change from a twenty! Wanna play? Copy the list and price it out at you store....

More Sonora Desert Museum

2011-01-14T22:58:00.005-05:00

If you think that a "museum" is an "inside job"- you need to come here. The Sonoran Desert Museum. You get your ticket and pass through the gate. You were outside in the desert when you got that ticket and you are outside again as soon as you are through the gate. Before you is a vast and spectacular piece of desert that has been "upgraded" into what is most assuredly a rare collection of desert goodies- 300 animal species and 1200 different plant varieties on 21 acres with two miles of paths to stroll- a desert museum! Last time we were here, we enjoyed it enough to want to come back. This time we did a few of the same things, but also took in a few sites we'd missed before. The raptor show was a do-again for sure...and this time, during the flight of the family of Harris Hawks, a small bird made the big mistake of thinking he could travel through the designated spot for the demonstration of free flying hunters without notice. I am sure he would rethink his decision given the chance. But this was a fatal mistake for the little guy. It seems he was delicious and for those of us who had never seen a family of hawks that hunts together, this was a most amazing bonus.

In the cat canyon, we found a beautiful ocelot and a pair of bob cats basking in the heat of the midday- we hadn't been able to locate them on our previous visit. The coyote territory remains to be checked off our list for another time. We walked the perimeter but those coy little critters must have been napping in a den down below somewhere.

Here's a look at some of the shots from today's visit to the desert museum:

On A Mission

2011-01-14T00:00:00.003-05:00

Today, you might say, we were on a mission to see what was on a Mission. Only a few miles down the road (on Mission Street) from our Western Way campground is the Mission San Xavier del Bac. The Spanish Catholic Mission was founded in 1699 by the Jesuit missionary Eusebio Francisco Kino. The original Mission was built where the natural springs (now gone) came up from the desert. It was also built on the very edge of the centuries old Apache Indian Center and was at one point destroyed by the Apaches.

The architecture of the Mission is Moorish inspired, but structurally (and seen from the air) is built in the shape of the Cross. The Mission fell on hard times for a long enough period that there was a great deal of deterioration of the structure and the furnishings and the artifacts inside. Because the original building methods and materials were not understood when repairs were first undertaken, some of the materials used (like modern cement) actually created further damage. Thanks in part to the separation of church and state, no federal funds can be used for the restoration, but private funds, and the earnings of the historical site itself, are now being used for an ongoing restoration project using some of Europe's finest craftsman and artists along with local native artisans who understand the original methods, such as using the juice of boiled pad cactus mixed with sand and lime to make the breathable original material from which the Mission was constructed.

If you are wondering the same thing we did upon arrival at the Mission- No, there is not a missing portion of the tower on the right- that is the original design feature....

In its day, it was a magnificent building intended to attract people from local communities and also from far away. It is still doing that to this day. Mass is held daily. Here are a few images from "today's Mission!"

Tucson In Reverse

2011-01-12T23:22:00.003-05:00

The normal progression would be to tell the saga of the day from start to finish. Today, though, that just feels like the wrong order of business to me. So here's how our day ended:

We watched President Obama on the TV as night fell over Tucson. He was here to pay his respects to the dead and wounded from the recent shooting episode that shocked the nation and shattered this community. I don't consider myself to be a fan of the president's politics or rhetoric, but his oratory is noteworthy and this evening's performance, if you will, was the right word at the right place at the right time with the right tone. It sounded at first more like a pep rally than a memorial service in that those in attendance were in large part students who were cheering on their President. He seemed almost uncomfortable with the behavior of his audience, and to be sure he began from the uncomfortable position of having many of his strong supporters espousing blame to those who had nothing whatsoever to do with the events as they unfolded. He could have joined them. He could have continued down that path. I thought he may well have. But he did not. Instead he held up the lives lost and the actions of the living to strike a note of promise that this community seems to be crying out for. He challenged the nation not to "disappoint" the hopes and goals of those that were lost- among them perhaps most on the nation's mind- a nine year old girl who was at the event to learn about her government, having just been herself elected to her student council. There were no dry eyes in the house, in the streets, or in front of the tv. I even noted the President nearly "losing it" when he spoke of the child, which surely must have hit pretty close to home with him. To be here now is to feel the pain and the tragedy even more sharply than if we were elsewhere.... We feel immersed in it, even though we are essentially just passers by. On this occasion, I heard no one, not one who thought the President could possibly have done a better job pulling people together and trying to get the nation back on track. Credit where credit is due.

Perhaps tomorrow, in the bright sunlight of the desert, thanks in part to the oratory of the evening before, we can all be a bit more at peace with the true lessons from a sad day. One person is to blame. Many lessons are to be learned.

Which takes me back in time to the drive back to the coach from our activities of the day. We had been on the far side of Tucson- about as far away from the south side where we are camped as you can get without being "somewhere else." A full 40 minutes from the rig, maybe longer if we hit traffic. Did I mention the President was in town? We did know he was coming. But Tucson is a very large city geographically and we had no idea when we started out exploring where things were- like the college campus, the hospital, the Safeway, and especially the auditorium where the President was to speak. First we noted that nearly all traffic was slowing and becoming congested. Helicopters were filling the sky like hummingbirds at the sugar-water right before sunset. Sirens started in a distance and became louder and closer. Traffic slowed to a crawl- but did not, could not stop. Instead large, painfully slow circles were created on either side of what was the President's motorcade route. For security I suppose, no routes were marked, so you had to keep moving and following the vehicles in front of you in an endless detour. No police directed traffic- they must all have been deployed elsewhere. Well it so happened that on one of our loops up near the barricaded routes, the motorcade passed right in front of us. Now mind you we had not come here to see the President, the motorcycle cops, the black limos with flags waving, the secret service detail. I've seen motorcades before, have even been in parades in Washington DC where they were all around us. But something other than all that was going on here- almost as though there were decoy motorcades.... One passed in front of us, then a second from our left, and yet another came straight at us from under the route 10 bridge. I feared that maybe something else tragic had taken place with all the squad cars and flashing red and blue lights coming and going every which way. Especially when we started to see helicopters landing on the roof of the hospital...and hundreds, literally hundreds, of news coverage vehicles, crews, reporters as far as the eye could see as we drove by the hospital where the President was going to visit Gabrielle Giffords and the other surviving victims. Thankfully that was not the case. My best guess is that security on the ground is much like security for the President in the air- where there is always more than one Air Force one flying.

Truthfully it was all a bit frightening. My sense of history told me whatever was happening was BIG and I should be pulling over and taking photos. But as cars to the sides of the route were forced to keep moving, that was a challenge that was only met in small measure. In the congested conditions of the city, one wrong move could have created an accident or worse that simply could not have been dealt with- so we just kept on going around and around until everyone else was where they were supposed to be....

Earlier in the day we had taken a tram at Coronado National Forest, through and to the top of Sabino Canyon. Sheer cliffs, at places 400 foot high walls of solid rock, stately Saguaro cactus dotting the hills and canyon walls, while the Creosote brush and Mesquite and Palo Verde (green stick) filled in the space between the Arizona Sycamores and Cottonwoods in the Riparian area surrounding the stream that flows out of the mountains and through the canyon floor. We jumped off the tram just down from the top where it made its turn-around, determined to hike out of the canyon. We started out at a temp of 46 degrees. We finished however many miles later at a temp of 64 degrees. The coats and "layers" we were thankful for at the outset were now burdens that needed to be stripped off and lugged with the water and the cameras and the binoculars and the yada yada yada. Time for a new backpack! The walking sticks, being back at the coach, were NOT helpful, but as no mountain lions decided to take issue with our trespassing in their space- that worked out OK. Even at 64 degrees, "comfortable" by any measure of desert temperatures, the desert air sucks the moisture right out of your body and hastens fatigue. I'm pretty sure that's true, but whether it is or not, that's what I'm blaming my being so tired on by the time we walked out of the canyon and back to the visitors center.

A Day In Tucson: In Reverse. One for the record....

Brief Historical Notes:

2011-01-09T00:34:00.003-05:00

Remember Edith Ann from Saturday night live? Little girl who sat in a gigantic chair and talked honestly and directly to the audience.... We found her in our campground in Tombstone. Turns out there is a camping, folding chair model of the Edith Ann chair too. And who knew she eventually went to Ohio State?

Then, on a much more serious note: Arizona Representative to Congress, Gabrielle Giffords, was shot in the head while holding an open session for constituents in Tucson earlier in the day. We were horrified to see it on the news upon return from our ride in the desert. Yet another horrific episode that we will "remember where we were when it happened." It hits especially close to home as we are only one day out from being in that very venue. Marilyn had already told me that "shopping for groceries" was first on our agenda upon arrival there, and this happened outside a grocery store. People have asked if we are OK. Absolutely, timing is everything. As of this writing, the Congresswoman is surviving the ordeal and doctors seem to think that she has a miraculous chance of recovering. Our thoughts and prayers are in support of that miracle. Others did not make it out the other side of the ordeal. All we can do is ask "why?"

Rattlesnake Crossing

2011-01-08T23:05:00.004-05:00

On our last day in the greater Tombstone area, we finally managed to get a small group together to ride out into the desert to see whatever there was to be seen there. It had just been too cool to ride earlier in the week. It never ceases to amaze me the things we see in the desert through this mode of travel that we just would not see by any other means. Oh, I suppose we could hike out there, but just for discussion sake, today we covered a 50 mile round trip- give or take a mile. Long hike on the hoof. (Or five days by Conestoga wagon is how I like to think of it.)

The air was a bit chilly, but sunshine was the order of the day...and a pretty one it was. We headed out into the desert in the general direction of Tombstone. Made a stop at the monument to Edward Schieffelin. Schieffelin was a lifelong prospector who had learned everything there was to know about prospecting from his father- with one exception: how to strike it rich. He'd tried a few other vocations on occasion but found them to be less than satisfying by comparison. Upon showing up in "these here parts" he was told that there was nothing worth finding...and that all he was likely to find in this lawless area was his "tombstone." But oh contraire! Instead he found silver. Lots of silver. Enough silver so that a town was born...a town that became known as Ed Schieffelin's Tombstone. Now that story- being one of historical significance to Tombstone today- you would think that might have that monument being built in a park right smack dab in the middle of the town- maybe down there near the OK Corral. But no. This monument is on a dirt road out in the desert where the only way someone is gonna see it is if they set off to go there in the first place...and probably by ATV. Schieffelin is buried there, on this site, which, it turns out was the site of the boundary marker of his very first claim upon arrival here. He is buried in his mining duds, with a pick ax by his side. Comfortable. Satisfied. Successful. Having found silver and gold AND his Tombstone!

Now as classic a Tombstone epitaph as that may be, we mixed things up a bit by then driving down through the town (you can do that on an ATV in Arizona, one of the things that makes it such a neat place) and out into the desert beyond town. Destination: Rattlesnake Crossing. I'll give it my best effort at a verbal description, but in reality only "seeing is believing" for this place. OK. Picture this: a dilapidated old blue trailer- scrapped and left for dead in the desert. Inside the trailer is a store. In the store is darn near everything you could possibly think of that is made from rattlesnake skin. Rattlesnake belts. Rattlesnake rattle ear rings. Ties. Wallets. Cell phone holders. Sculpture. Everything- but shoes. Why no shoes you ask? Because to sell shoes you would need a shoe sale clerk. And this store has no clerks. No, not even one. With hundreds, more like thousands of dollars in inventory- this store operates on the honor system. You like something that is not priced you may not buy it- it ain't for sale. You like something priced, you add it up when you are finished shopping and you put your money in the wooden box by the door on your way out. You buy more that 100 dollars worth (which is easy to do), you figure your own discount...and can take an additional twenty dollars worth of goodies free. Don't have cash? No problem, the name to write on your check is on the sign by the door- all checks welcome. Out of state check without ID- no problem here either. And the merchandise? Crummy stuff? Nope. First rate, great quality- every single bit of it. Is the cash box locked? Nope. No need apparently. The system works.

Now outside the decor is less of a store and more of an open air museum. This has to be the best collection of stuff, crap, junk, and priceless antiques that I have ever seen under one roof! Oooops. My bad; no roof! Bubble gum machines, mineral specimens that are enormous and gorgeous, petrified wood by the tree load, tools, motorcycles, depression glass, red wagons, guns and roses, metal and wooden sculpture, skulls of real stuff and extra-terrestrial, glass insulators, mining equipment, kitchen equipment, kid's toys, animal hides, and on and on and on. Even a well carved bust of Jesus (which may account for everyone's honesty). Lots of stuff you know what it is but didn't expect to see here. Stuff you have no idea what it is, but it's really cool. Is there a charge to see all this stuff? Nope, but that doesn't stop visitors from putting money in the till. There is a rusty metal sculpture of a cowboy wearing a vest in the middle of the display and he is holding a big plate. What's in the plate? Money. Lots of it. Quarters, Dollar bills. Two dollar bills. Five dollar bills...and bigger bills. Does anyone take it? Nope. They put more in. We did too. What a business model! We wandered around there for more than an hour- each encouraging the other to "come here and see this..." We came. We saw. We are still amazed.

Like the best monument in Tombstone, the best store in Tombstone.....ISN'T in Tombstone. It's out in the desert in the wind and the sands of time. And lucky we are to have seen it if only for a moment as we passed through.

If you are only ever going to watch one of our slide shows all the way through- make it this one.

Queen Of Copper

2011-01-08T01:55:00.004-05:00

More mining on today's agenda. Off to The Queen of the Copper Camps in Bisbee, Arizona. There's an open pit mine that you can see on your own, then take the miner's train underground for the tour which goes into the mine about a thousand feet by train, with side tours that are walking and climbing shafts. As always, there were new pieces of equipment to discover that were specific to this operation. We donned real hard hats, yellow slickers and full weight battery packs and head lamps. As there are very few electric lights in the mine, having everyone in the group have their own light was excellent. This mine is cold at 47 degrees, especially compared to the 70 - 80 degree temperatures and 99 % humidity of Kartchner Caverns which we took in last week. The mine shafts we traveled were TIGHT. You could touch either wall or the ceiling at any point will riding in or out. Still, there didn't seem to be that claustrophobic feeling one might have expected given the small, cold, and dark of the experience.

Chicken Mike had suggested that if we got to Bisbee, we should look up a chocolatier in the town built into the side of the mountain. Great suggestion. As our time there was all too short, certainly too short to explore the surprisingly beautiful mountainside town to any extent, it was grand to have a reason to at least drive through the town in search of ChocolaTE- spelled this way so you can sound out the name of the business. We found it almost at the end of the main drag, on the hillside- a tiny building but large with personality and the luring aroma from the specially imported cocoa beans and the specialty chocolates being made, sampled and sold in the tiny store. Amazingly delicious! I also had a small sample mug of the "best hot chocolate in the world" - a claim that's hard to argue with! Another time, Bisbee will be right up there on the list of places to further explore.

This slide show will include both the town, the mine tour, and the chocolate shop:

Tombstone Two

2011-01-07T11:52:00.004-05:00

Another day "hanging" with the gun-slingers and common folk of Tombstone, Arizona. First up- a tour of the Good Enough Silver Mine- the reason that Tombstone became Tombstone in the first place. There are still some fine examples of high grade silver ore in the mine. It was fun to see and we couldn't help but feel like grabbing the drills and going to work blasting some of that "good enough" ore from the shaft and carrying it out to daylight. Each mine we visit offers us something new that we have not seen before. This was our first silver mine. It was the first time we have ever seen a train track based porta-potty made of iron (the forerunner of RV-ing???). Once again we are teamed up with Jules and Stonewall, Carol and Wayne for this tour and Gene climbed "all aboard" and did a demo of the piece of equipment (well- sorta).

Then off to the Tombstone Courthouse which has been converted into a museum. A jail cell and the gallows for the town are located in the courtyard of the museum. The nooses, with their 13 coils each, were intriguing to see against the the bright sky of the desert. The trap door used to activate the gallows during a hanging went all the way across the platform. There were five eye bolts to accommodate up to five hangings at a time. Group rates!

Then down to Fremont Street by actual horse drawn stage coach, where the Gunfight at the OK Corral took place. The Earp brothers did a number on the Clantons and McLaurys. A dramatic reenactment provided a look at how the gunfight played out, without a slant to say who was right and who was wrong. But as history goes, Wyatt Earp and his brothers are all famous, or infamous, depending on you point of view; Clantons and McLaurys who? With the ladies in the audience, Doc Holliday was numero uno.

A visit at Boot Hill, the famous cemetery on the fringe of town, coincided with the last rays of sunlight and the sunset. It was perhaps the perfect time to be there. The stories of each person buried there is told on a small cross (and the small brochure that you get with the price of a two dollar donation to help maintain the cemetery). It was the perfect punctuation to our Tombstone visit. Like other cemeteries before it, and maybe even more so...this was a moving experience.

Tombstone- The Town Too Tough To Die

2011-01-04T22:16:00.003-05:00

Wyatt Earp. Doc Holliday. Just a few of the names associated with a town perhaps more known for the deaths that happened here than for the lives that were lived out. "The town too tough to die" is how they promote themselves these days. And while we found some excellent shops, a great cafe (O.K. Cafe- home of the buffalo burger) and some enterprising businesses, we also found many an empty building, store hours that had been cut back to weekend only during season, and some shops that were more dead than alive. Clearly the economy has hurt the town. We would still like to get back into town to see the gun fight at the O.K Corral. And we will certainly go into the silver mine that starts just off main street and actually develops UNDER the town of Tombstone. It was a slow day in town: a fifty fifty mix of tourists and characters in the costume of the time. We had a leisurely self guided tour. The history of the place seemed to come to life in the gentle desert breeze that blew through town. Certainly the history of the place will never die.

The silver mine in town still has veins of silver, and other important minerals as well, including some used to make gun powder....but like other "mines" and mining operations we have visited- there is sometimes more opportunity in mining the tourists than in mining the minerals.

The slide show that follows will provide a glimpse of the images around town. We were delighted to see a modern Bank of America offering full service in the old bank building. Thanks to them for allowing "us customer-type gunslingers" to photograph the inside of the bank. Very neat.

Single Finger Salutation

2011-01-03T11:47:00.007-05:00

You're driving down the road in New Mexico. Any road. Or you're taking your daily walk along the side of the road in New Mexico. Any road. And you notice that every driver that sports New Mexico plates is passing you, almost without exception, and raising a single finger, an index finger (important to the story), as though in some sort of "point" skyward. Two hands on the wheel; one finger waves "howdy." It's a New Mexico thing...and it's much more universal than you might think. No one takes the hand off the wheel and waves. No one tips a hat. No flash of the headlights. Just that single finger salutation.

If that makes New Mexico sound like a pretty gosh darn friendly place, well then so be it. But, then, that's a surface thing. I mean, I never did meet any of those individuals expressing their greeting with that single finger gesture. They might be very nice. They might not. I just assume they are because, after all, they took the time to raise their finger as they drove by. It's a nice thing to do, regardless of whatever may be behind the idea. In Honduras, when we lived there, if someone gestured to you while passing each other on a winding road, they called it "hailing" you. Same thing, different gesture, different place and time.

We had an excellent Christmas and New Year's eve with our friends in New Mexico while staying at Arrey RV Park and taking in the sights and sounds of the area. Best end-of-year holiday I've had in some time. Good friends. Good food. Good prospecting. Good campfires. Lots of laughter. Camaraderie. Everything you think will make for a good time anywhere, any time.

So when we got up early the morning of the 2nd of the new year, fought off the near zero temps to get ready to roll we felt pretty darn good. About our time in New Mexico. About the prospects for the new year. About life in general. We headed down the highway slowly so as to let the ice cold tire air warm slowly and safely. The early morning light on the mountains was beautiful. I took a sip of my coffee. Ahhhhhhh.

Back when we had first pulled into camp and Marilyn went in to get us registered and make any necessary arrangements, the older woman who owns the camp was working the desk, sucking cigarette smoke from the butt hanging out of her mouth and sucking oxygen from the plastic tubes shoved up her nostrils. Seemed like a poor combination, but to each his own. For whatever reason, and you can draw your own conclusions as you deem appropriate, the owner was literally unable to figure out the cost of a 10 day stay at her own camp. Repeatedly she asked Marilyn for what Marilyn knew was too little. Repeatedly Marilyn tried to help her reach an appropriate amount. Finally in frustration, the owner ventured that "just give me a hundred bucks and we won't have to charge you for the electricity- otherwise someone has to go out and read the meter...." In light of what others were paying (125 a month plus electricity) that seemed fair for a big rig so we wrote the check and that was that. We set up camp. The 30 amp service worked; the 110 did not. Oh, well. All right........

Or was it? Now nearly 10 miles down the road, cruising along with sunshine and smiles on our faces, two guys in a pickup truck are making like they are robbing a stagecoach and trying to push us, force us over to the side of the road. They were making a few gestures of their own. Haven't seen those gestures from the good folks of New Mexico!

Having few good options we pulled to the side when we were able. We steadfastly refused to open the door (had no idea who they were), instead telling the two hombres to come to the driver's window and talk to me...which they then did:

"You didn't pay your bill!" said a young man who we subsequently learned was the grandson of the huffing and puffing owner and had himself, if the story was true, just been released from jail for Christmas. What a nice gesture.

"What the heck are you talking about? We paid the bill when we arrived, before we even set up camp."

"Not the electric. You owe us for electric, and you're just trying to skip out early without paying."

Now since you already heard the beginning of this conversation in prose form, I'll skip ahead here. But we knew we had paid; the owner should have known we paid. So what was all this about anyway?

"Well, for discussion sake, even though we know we already paid what was asked in full, how much do you think we owe you?"

"Eighteen dollars," said Billy The Kid.

"And how do you figure that? May I ask...."

"It's the difference between the initial meter reading" (the one they said they didn't want to have to go take) "and the end reading."

Now all this seemed like a bunch of hooey to us, but for 18 dollars who wanted to drive all the way back there and get into this matter again and again. Certainly not us. We had already learned that dealing with these challenged folks was, well, challenging. So we reached for a twenty and as I was ready to hand it to The Kid, he came back to the window, this time on a cell phone. Now it seemed the manager, the owner's son and The Kid's dad (I know- it confuses me too) is on the phone and is demanding we return immediately to camp to pay him what has now become 68 dollars for the electric. Failure to return right here right now, he says "will result in my calling the sheriff and having you arrested."

How nice! Happy New Year to you too, Ratchet Rick. Needless to say we go back. Can't chance not resolving this and there-by making it worse. All we should have to do, really, is review the original conversation with Puff the Magic Dragon. We are no longer happy, smiling, feeling the sunshine of the fresh year on our faces.

But another twist. Puff either is lying that she didn't have that first conversation with us about paying up front including electricity in the first place... or she just plain can't remember, doesn't remember, and never told anyone else. Either way, this is not good. A matter of competence or a matter of design....can't really say for sure. But it felt a lot like the latter by this point.

"So how did we get up to 68 dollars here? Billy The Kid here told us you wanted 18 dollars..."

But before I could continue, The Kid says, "That was only a suggestion, Sir!"

"A suggestion? Really? You suggest I pay an additional 18 dollars and your papa here suggests I pay an extra 68 dollars or you will have us arrested? Really? A suggestion? Sounds more like an extortion to me, but whatever....."

Did I mention we did have a receipt? No matter; receipts mean nothing at this campground.

Since I have no idea about the relationship between Puff, The Kid, The Ratchet and the Sheriff, (although I had half a notion to find out), we paid our bill....again...and headed down the road. There are battles that must be fought. There are those that should be fought, but can't be won anyhow even if they are fought. Guess this was one of those.

We won't be going back to Arrey RV. Ever. I might suggest you don't go there either, unless of course you find pure joy in paying for your stay over and over. Your call! We learned subsequent to this experience that we are certainly not the only guests to be told one thing by the gang leader only to be way-laid by her posse. So enter these here parts with caution.

The rest of the trip to the border with Arizona was uneventful. Folks along the way continued their pleasant single finger salute, and as we have now become accustomed, we returned it more often than not. No one else tried to force us off the road. No sheriff cars appeared in the rear view mirror.

And as the dotted line on the GPS map that signals the border between states met the icon of the coach traveling that route, I offered up a symbolic single finger salute of my own to the "family feud" that owns Arrey RV Park..... only this time,................. I used a different finger.

PS: Yes. There is a PS to this accounting. The strip of highway 187 where Arrey RV Park is to be found is just dotted with very small RV Parks- all of which look pretty much alike. Some of the other parks have small stores, even a fuel station. And it seems, after speaking with several of the other owners that we MAY have actually wound up in the wrong park- not the one that was recommended by someone back East who had stayed here before. No matter. Aside from this episode- good times were had by all. And a good story is just that!

Wind To Wind Up 2010

2010-12-30T14:12:00.007-05:00

Normally we would be talking about beginning the month of March like a Lion or a Lamb, but it seems that that will be the appropriate terminology for writing up the end of the year here in New Mexico. Frigid temperatures are being ushered in by 50 mph winds accompanied by all of the dust and sand that they can possibly pick up and carry with them. It is a sandstorm! On yes it is! The tumbleweeds are blowing by the front window of the coach faster than we can count them. The Christmas tree, still atop the wheel conversion table that fits over the steering wheel when we are set up is rocking back and forth like it were outside in the wind itself. It’s not that the wind is blowing on through the coach- it’s just that the wind is hitting us on the drivers side and making the whole coach rock back and forth. We’ve already been outside to batten down the hatches, now we wait to see when…or IF, it will let up. The storm is scheduled to last through the end of the year. Yuk! I’m supposed to smoke the turkey thighs tomorrow; we’ll have to see about that. If I did that right now, the legs would not only be smoked, they would be sand blasted, which, I’m pretty sure is not a satisfactory system of meat tenderizing.

January started with cold temperatures making it “rain iguanas” in the Florida Keys. Now that I think about it, that pretty much set the tone for the year. And oddly enough, it was Stonewall Gene who wanted to taste iguanas back then and now here we are together in the desert tasting the sand. Back in January and the rest of the winter months, the cold killed fish and manatees and turtles and made a real mess of both the beaches in the Keys AND our winter stay there. Not special, but memorable I suppose.

We had the same crappola in the Everglades where we thought perhaps we could escape the wind and the cold. But nothing doing, and the normally lush green of the Glades was a drab olive and brown instead from the low temps. By April 1, the temps had moderated and we headed off to Orlando where we were “attacked” by the abundance of sand hill cranes who were nesting in the area and cranking out “little peckers.” That’s not a slur, they simply grow up to be tall skinny birds that peck the daylights out of anything that reflects their image- like the side of a motor coach or the bumpers of your car. And for some reason they feel the need to do this at 4 in the morning. We departed Florida and headed off to Georgia, once again to meet up with Stonewall and Jules and look for some gold in Cleveland at the LDMA Loud Mine Camp.

But that excursion was short lived and my dad took ill after we were there only a few days and passed away only a week after we made it home. You can expect such events in the course of a natural lifetime but no matter how well prepared for them you think you are- you are not! It was a tough time for all and the blog took a breather while we all tried to catch our collective breath.

It took us until the beginning of July to be ready to feel things were OK on the home front and get ready to get back on the road. That was about the time when the tornado ripped through Thousand Trails, Hershey and did a number on the camp, the rigs parked there, and the surrounding infrastructure of the area. Evacuation was ordered and we left the camp as soon as we had made other arrangements.

We set our sights on Maine to visit Dick and Sarah. We started a nice visit there, but then the wind was taken out of those sails when we realized that Abby The Wonder Dog still had heart but no legs on which to carry it and so she too slipped away from us. A double dose of downbeat makes for a depression that’s hard to climb out of.

Back to Pennsylvania to finish some financial arrangements that were in the works to adjust to our new reality- but it wasn’t long before Cosmic Uncle Vinny passed away on the Cape and we headed off once again in October in support of those who have always given us the same.

Once on the road again, we stopped by Vein Mountain in NC in November and were rewarded with a “smiley face" in our gold pan for the effort. By month’s end we had completed the east Coast cycle and were back in Florida for doctors, dentists, and friends for Thanksgiving On The Beach II. It was a special and comforting way to bring it all back home. But Florida got a bit old by the time we spent two weeks trying to get parts for the coach so as to allow us to strike out once again, and as soon as we could, we made the decision to head west…and so here we are in New Mexico at year’s end. Stonewall and Jules are here. Sand Hill Cranes are here (by the millions)- didn’t see that one coming! Cold is here. Winds are here. Even some rain at the moment as this is written. A storm made of sand- but better than a tornado. It was almost like this year had a theme that just had to play out. So be it!

It was a tough year by some standards. But it was a good year as well. Filled with good friends and family and new experiences. With ideas that can be developed for the future. With reflections on the past. With a new strength that comes from times of weakness that are overcome. With love that strengthened through adversity and tribulations. With renewed faith. Not the best of times; not the worst of times. But times none-the-less that make us who we are and show us the paths from which to choose our future….

We head into the new year, remembering those who will not see it arrive with us:

Samuel Charles Gundy

March 28, 1918 - April 23, 2010
Child Of God; Man Of Science

Abby, The Wonder Dog
"Be Gentle, But Fear Nothing; Live Large"

Ride To Chloride

2010-12-29T16:06:00.005-05:00

We weren't especially in the mood for a day of rock-hounding, the activity most of the rest of group decided to embark upon, and since we've been here less time than the others we decided to take the day to accomplish a few necessities and do some driving around and sight seeing. A ride to the semi-ghost town of Chloride seemed like just the thing and an itinerary was created to accomplish all the goals of the day.

First stop: Elephant Butte State Park. Everyone saw the elephant! Everyone but us, that is. "We didn't see no stinkin' elephant." A pretty mountain range, yes. A big lake created by a dam, sure. An old beat up and plum wore out volcano, ditto. But an elephant? Moving on!

Second stop: The rock shop at Hillsboro. If you were paying attention a minute ago (reading and retaining are two different things- as any former reading teacher will tell you), you heard me say we hadn't intended to go rock hounding. And that was not our intention by visiting the rock shop. The owner of the shop also manufactures some dry washing and mining equipment and we needed to pick up a few spare parts and supplies- what with all the gold we're finding! Uh-huh. Sure. The shop was closed in preparation for the boss man to go on vacation, but he saw us roll in and opened up to see we got what we needed- a nice thing to do seeing as how we initially bought the equipment from him a couple years back.

Backtracking from the rock shop, we took the New Mexico Scenic Highway to Chloride. Scenic it was. The slide show will provide evidence of just that- I am sure you will agree. The museum(s) at Chloride document the gold rush days and early settlement of the area. I somehow don't think the town has changed a whole heck of a lot since then, so there were some fascinating places and artifacts to see there. My two favorites: the dentist's chair and his "instruments" which I am sure account for the brown coloration of the seat on the otherwise white chair, if you know what I mean. And the still-operational, first ever food processor- something the likes of which I have never seen anywhere before and which pretty much made the trip worth-while all by itself.

Next stop: Truth Or Consequences. New Mexico Choan had recommended La Cocina (The Kitchen) for a good Mexican meal and so we set the GPS and drove right to the empty building where IT USED TO BE! Bummer. Didn't see it anywhere else so we settled on "fast chicken" which turned out to be "slow agony" but that's another story. Only after eating the sub-standard, quickly plucked and fast fried "pollo" did we realize, as we drove out of town that La Cocina had in fact moved out to the edge of town and yes, across from the area's one and only Walmart. It wasn't possible to follow the foul, I mean fowl, with anything additional, so that will go on the list of things to do another time... a list that seemingly grows larger for every thing that we ARE able to do.

Fueled up the Quig in T-Or-C ( locals look at you funny if you actually say "Truth Or Consequences). Fuel is wicked pricey there, but not as high as the general store down the road from camp in Arrey. I won't claim to know where the middle of the desert is...but I have reason to believe we may be somewhat near it based on local prices. Trust is also a major issue this close to the border with Mexico. Even a small fuel purchase required leaving not only the credit card with a picture on it, but also the driver's license with the clerk while I pumped. I didn't see any bogus Walmart charges on line when I got home and checked so I reckon they actually did just "hold it."

Then we wrapped up a nifty day with a stop at Bullocks (that's the grocery store, not Sandra's place). What a hoot that place is. Being the tallest guy in the store, I was the go to guy for short people who needed the tall guy to reach the guacamole and chicharones on the top shelf now and again. Happy to do it. De nada! Buena noche.

Be doubly sure to watch the slide show for the New Mexico Speed Trap! Stonewall had told me to be certain to obey the limit while passing through town! (Not sure he knows who's in the squad car :-))

"Divine" Help For Prospecting

2010-12-27T16:38:00.004-05:00

Yesterday, out on El Grito, the claim we are working, claim owner Jimmy stopped by to see what was "shakin'" (dry washing joke). We had a nice visit, and Jimmy introduced us to "divining." Ever the skeptic for such things, I watched as he demonstrated. Sure, but are you making those things move when they are over the buckets with the gold in them? Nope. He wasn't. They do it all by themselves. Every time. Stonewall tried it (and he appears in all the photos)...and it worked. Marilyn tried it...and it worked. I tried it...and it worked. It worked over every bucket that had gold flakes in it. It refused to work over buckets that did not. It did nothing over ground that was merely overburden and gravel, but the minute you walked over a portion of the wash that did hold gold, it moved to show where the gold was. Every time. No, seriously- every time.

While (now that I have looked them up on line) they come in a variety of materials and styles, they work for a variety of searches: minerals, water, even, some say, ghosts. I make no claim about the ghost business, but for gold it definitely worked. Every time. Did I mention that ?

These particular rods, according to Jimmy, are stainless steel with threaded brass balls on both the handle and the pointing end of the rod. To make them work for gold, he places a small flake of gold under the brass ball on the pointing end. The pair of rods is housed in a case made of PVC pipe, into which is slipped a popsicle stick that has a small gold nugget glued to the end. This nugget "powers" the rods to be in gold search mode when used. Before each use, you rub the rods with your hands to "give them your energy." Then you rub them under your arms to pick up some static charge. With arms outstretched, the handle portion of the rod loosely in your hand, and the pointing portion of the rods aimed straight ahead, parallel, and at a slight down ward angle so as not to create unintended motion, you walk...or turn, to see what is in the ground around you. It works. Every time.

Here's a slide show to show you what I am talking about. Watch as each slide advances to see the change in the position of the rods. Stonewall is our demonstrator. In the background of the shots you will see Jimmy observing and commenting. A cameo will be made by Marilyn as she walks into and then out of the frames over the time I was shooting.

It's really neat. It works. Every time!

In Search Of Geronimo And Christmas

2010-12-25T21:04:00.003-05:00

Dateline: Christmas Eve Day 2010. We’d heard the story of the hideout of the legendary Geronimo. It was said to be down the wash and through the canyon just below the claim we have been working on here in Arrey, New Mexico.

For those of you not from here- it is pronounced “a RAY”, not “Air ee”, even though the town of Derry shares the same highway sign. One would think that “Derry Arrey” would sound like derriere and so…oh… never mind!

Anyway, supposedly you can ride an ATV down through the canyon until you come to the convergence of any number of gullies, washes, canyons, ravines, and gorges that were once the super hideaway for Geronimo. At one time in the not too distant past, so much water filled the hideaway “hole” that some enterprising prospectors dragged a dredge into the location and promptly were rewarded with 200 ounces of gold for their effort. That is the kind of story, however believable or unbelievable as the case may be, that has driven folks to prospect in the past and keeps them prospecting and exploring to this very day.

So we, along with Stonewall and Jules, Nancy and John set out in search of Geronimo‘s special place in the desert. The first part of the ride down the wash was easy and scenic. All too soon the sides of the wash gave rise to the sides of a canyon and the path that could be traveled narrowed considerably. Before long the floor of the canyon was too narrow to continue, but even if it had been wide enough, the steps and dry waterfalls that the floor turned into would not have been traversable by vehicle. Perhaps in a distant time when the canyon floor had not eroded so deep…......., Perhaps it was in fact the terrain that made the hideout so great.

At first we just gazed down through what we could see. Then the canyon called to us and we set out on foot so as to “see around the bend.” There were black sands sitting atop the rough hard-pack beneath our feet. The kind of sign a prospector might be looking for. We walked a bit further and the signs that gold may be just beneath our feet was too great to ignore. Back to the bikes for a bucket and a shovel and a whisk broom. The “half bucket” of sample I collected was so heavy it was difficult dragging it back to our base. Surely there would be gold in this river of black sand….

Following our sampling, Gene, Jules and I headed out again on foot to see where the trail might lead. Winding deeper and deeper, the sides of the canyon got steeper and steeper to a point we might not have been able to climb out in places. Narrower and narrower. More and more caves in the walls. Havalina (a small pig-like desert dweller) tracks were everywhere. Signs of a mountain lion had us looking up and over our shoulders as we proceeded. Well- Gene and I looked up; but Jules, ever the rock hound, mostly looked down. We had it all covered! At one point, Gene expressed that he felt there could be an Indian attack at any moment. It’s true- that feeling from another time does wash over you in a place like this. It is spiritual to say the least.

As time and energy slipped away, we turned and headed back. Had we found the hideaway? Would we know it if we had? Time and desert winds and flash floods can change the landscape here at will. There were no arrows, only animal bones and rocks. No deep hole full of gold, only that shallow river of black sand beneath our feet. Let’s head back to camp and see what we have found.

As the temperature began to drop and the sun set, we finished up panning out the sampling we had taken from the canyon. It was rich with particles of gold, even some wire gold- gold pieces that have been shaped by nature into what resembles small pieces of wire. There was no real evidence that we had found Geronimo’s old haunt…but we surely had the feeling we did.

The campfire Christmas Eve was toasty warm and comforting against the cold night air. The fellowship around the fire was as special as the crackling of the Mesquite flames. A “nip” from a clay jug helped to ward off the chill. Otherwise, a silent night. And so this is Christmas!

Christmas morning. The smells from around camp gave hint of what would be out at the pot luck hosted by camp owner Rick later in the day. Gone was the smoke from the campfire; replaced by the wafting scents of chili and enchiladas and tamales. This is gonna be GOOD!

First Gold In New Mexico

2010-12-23T23:05:00.008-05:00

Our first day (for this trip) in New Mexico saw us venturing into the desert- 15 miles from camp, then off road, four-wheeling in the Quig for about a mile to a claim that Stonewall Gene had been given permission for us to work on. We classified material from a small wash that fed into a larger wash, worked it down to the hard pack layer, then used our "vacs" to sweep the cracks and crevices. We lugged the buckets down the hill and into the larger wash- then ran all the material through the back-pack sized dry washer that we tote with us everywhere we go. Presto Change-o, Magicadoola, gold in the clean up! So New Mexico becomes our tenth state where we have found gold. Have to give a lot of the credit to Stonewall for the groundwork that got us on the claim and into a location that was very good. The campground also has its own claim for use by campers and we aim to rustle some dirt over there as well- with hopefully even more successful results.

So Stonewall, Harry, Marilyn and I dug in the wash today. Jules, Wayne and Carol headed out rock hounding. Nancy and John dry washed with Nancy's homemade dry-washer at the camp claim; then Nancy came home and made an awesome homemade stew that fed all of us around a campfire as darkness fell and the desert night turned cold. It was a magnificent day!

States Where We Found Gold

Bus Sniffing

2010-12-23T09:43:00.002-05:00

Oh "BUS Sniffing"! - all these years I thought they were saying "BUTT sniffing" when it came to the way dogs greeted, checked out, and inspected each other. But yesterday, it came to my immediate attention that, in fact, the phrase may have been "BUS sniffing" all along. Twenty five miles over the border into New Mexico and about as many miles north on Rt 25 be abruptly came upon a mandatory border security inspection station. Guards were everywhere. All traffic funneled into a single line. Slowed. Stopped.

"Is everyone in the vehicle a United States citizen?"

"Yes, sir"

"OK, then, have a nice day."

The human contact was inconsequential. What was of more interest? The dogs! As each car proceeded to the actual inspection stop point, a dog approached the side of the vehicle, stuck his nose in the air and sniffed the vehicle as it slowly rolled forward. Once the length of the vehicle passed the dog, it was stopped again, and the dog ran back and forth across the back of it for one last sniff. Without objection from the dog, the vehicle was allowed to continue on. If the dog was unhappy about anything, the vehicle was pulled forward into what looked to us like an x-ray unit, but may have been some other kind of mechanical detector or "sniffer."

So when our turn came, the dog did his thing and apparently agreed with us that everything was OK. As we pulled forward and back into the travel lane of the highway, we looked at each other and said":

"Oh! Bus Sniffing!"