Fallen Leaf and San Francisco: From Sunburn to Frostbite

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The end of July annually sees us trekking north with family for our stay at Stanford Sierra Camp. Not to slight our RV experiences, but THIS is the way to camp! Modern "cabin" rooms, three outstanding meals per day of all you can stuff, beautiful Fallen Leaf Lake (just SW of Lake Tahoe) and nestled in the best hiking country of Desolation Wilderness. Do it all, or do nothing. I usually hike my legs off, but I found at Mammoth that doing that burned off all my hard-earned pounds that I'm trying to replace after the Big C episode. So, this year I plan to loaf around camp, eat myself silly, and see how much I can increase the poundage. Plus, my degenerative disc disease is acting up and giving me leg tinglies. Time to slow down for a while. Mom has been out for three weeks, and the three of us made our way to Sacramento airport to pick up my niece, Rachel, the illustrated woman. Rachel is a motormouth doll with a body full of tats, including a new one that sports the family coat of arms, stag and all, across the top of her chest. She is an amazing sight in a sleeveless tanktop and a megawatt smile. We hustled up Highway 50 to get to camp before the dinner bell rang, and encountered surprisingly little traffic until the last climb over the pass before descending into the Tahoe Basin. The view of the devastation left by the big fire last year is still sobering, but there are a lot of new houses going up right in the middle of all the blackened terrain. Guess they'll be safe from fires for the next 50 years or so.

I kept to my plan and reluctantly passed on all the great hikes and the camaraderie that goes with them, but sculled every morning at 6:40 when the lake was like glass and everything was silent. It is the single most relaxing and soul-refreshing thing that you can imagine. I spent the days reading and doing arts. Turned out a nice charcoal drawing using the "Drawing On The Right Side Of Your Brain" technique (use the left hand if you're a righty), and a couple of watercolors that had the passers-by gasping (or was that retching?). Anyway, I met a number of campers that I ordinarily wouldn't have come in contact with and had a lot of fun. Loni, of course, outshined me in the art department. She has a natural talent that she is just now starting to pursue. The boyos bought her an art box with supplies, so hopefully she'll get to do some when we next take off in the RV. With Mom holding down the first place in the dining room line every meal, we scored outside tables every meal on the deck overlooking the lake. I truly oinked through every meal, cholesterol be damned. It's only a week, right?

We did go on one "hike," although it wasn't much more than a stroll. It was the nature hike to Lake Winnemucca, one that we've taken many times before. It starts at the Carson Pass, which is around 8,500 feet or so, and wanders south over rolling terrain filled with wildflowers and scenic vistas. This year it was only "good" for wildflowers due to the lower snowfall and early melt-off, but a nice hike nonetheless. I took along enough lunch to compensate for whatever calories I was burning and managed to keep my neck steady enough to avoid the leg tremors. Sigh. And to think just nine months ago I was scaling Half Dome without a care. Moral: DO IT ALL NOW!

Camp was over far too quickly and it was time to head back down the hill to Sacramento to drop Rachel off for her return flight, and then on to San Francisco to see the boys. We saw the annual huge motorcycle charity ride procession heading (thankfully) up highway 50 to Placerville as we were heading down. I calculated our relative closing speed at 90 mph, and it took seven minutes before we passed the end of the procession. Mom always gets a kick out of seeing the sight of all those headlights coming toward us. San Francisco was relatively sunny, but with a ferocious wind blowing. We had to be careful opening the car doors so that they wouldn't blow into the adjacent cars. We met up at John's apartment adjacent to the Buddhist residence facing the Panhandle park, snagging the last close parking spot just as Mike & Alia cruised past. Ate dinner at a quirky Chinese place that definitely didn't do the chow mein routine. Very delicious and interesting, and "only" cost old Dad $200 for the six of us. The next day dawned grey, overcast, foreboding, and cold. Mark Twain was right: the coldest winter he ever spent was a summer in San Francisco. This was the last day of the "Tall Ships" festival, so we all met up again and headed to Fisherman's Wharf. After twenty minutes of the San Francisco dance to find street parking (the lots had jacked prices to $25), with success defined as ten blocks away and up a steep hill, we walked around the festival. We went on a beaut of an authentic 19th century cargo ship, which was huge and had a hundred or so exhibits below decks, saw a replica of the Nina (authentically built using 15th century techniques up the Amazon river), and toured the local submarine that is a permanent exhibit. Mom first had to stop for the obligatory hot dog to keep her alleged hypoglycemia at bay, which was enough fortification until dinner time. The festival also was going on at two other locations along the S.F. waterfront, but I think we saw the most interesting of the lot. The Nina looked absolutely tiny at only 95 feet, and we couldn't imagine 35 or so men living on the deck (there was virtually nothing below) for the voyage to the New World. It was steered by a huge tiller, not a wheel, which must have taken two men at least to handle. Despite the cold and the wind, it was an excellent outing for everyone.

We reconvened back at Mike's this time, joined now by John's lady friend, Mehgan. They met the new-fashioned way earlier this year: on-line. It's a brave new world for us old farts. From Mike's we walked to a nifty Italian restaurant with dark wood, low lights, and a very sympatico owner-host. The food was excellent and the company even better, lubed by a couple of bottles of wine (one good and one not, or so I was told, seeing as how I'm still not up to speed taste-bud-wise). Good times were had by us all and old Dad got away for only $250 this time, for seven. In San Francisco, for good quality, this actually was not bad at all. Besides, it's the boyos' inheritance.

We left the next morning for L.A., shooting down the I-5, one of the more dreary rides in all of California. Can't believe that the gas prices haven't slowed the traffic one bit. We still managed to eke out 26+mpg out of the old Sienna in its 11th year. L.A. embraced us with the usual traffic, and we were home.

Don't Try This At Home ... or Away: Mammoth Lakes, June 2008

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My early May, ambiguous scan ("well, there's still something there, but we're not sure what; we'll know better in August") behind me, we pulled Albatross out of storage, washed and loaded it, and set out for Mammoth Lakes on June 2. Since we left at mid-day, the L.A. traffic was minimal and we headed out 405 to 5 to 14 to 395. The 14 has to be one of the singularly ugly drives around. Of course, going North, it's all uphill. In fact, the whole outbound trip is uphill, from sea level at our place to 7,800 feet at Mammoth. Stopped at Camping World in Valencia thinking we would pick up a small propane heater, only to find the one we wanted didn't work above 7,000 feet. As Loni couldn't leave empty-handed, we picked up a very nicely constructed aluminum fold-up-legs step to put on the ground outside the coach door. It has scrape strips on it to clean the debris off the shoes and I'm sure it will get plenty of use. The wind started blowing as soon as we hit the 14, and for the rest of the trip it was howling in our face. A steady 35mph, with gusts to 50. Guess what that does to gas mileage, especially in a constant state of climb? Hummers start to look economical, that's what. With gas well north of $4/gal, refueling a 55 gallon tank was an event.

Things got much better view-wise as we transitioned to the 395. Once you hit the Sierras, this is one of the El Primo drives in the U.S. The mountains still had plenty of snow on the peaks, the air was clear (with all that wind, it was sparkling). We kept the rig at 55mph and surprisingly kept up with most of the pace of the truck traffic. Guess the fuel cost is finally slowing those guys down a bit. Although the LD tracks quite well in the wind, it still was tiring to constantly be buffeted by the gusts, so we called it a day and stopped at the Diaz Lake campground (county) just south of Lone Pine. Nothing to write home about. Dry camping, but a decent lake to look at and the mountains behind us. Half-price senior’s rate was $9. Uneventful night and we lazed about the next morning as we only wanted to get as far as Bishop. Back on the road, the wind-in-your-face was even worse, so we were happy to only go that distance (about 100 miles or so). Once in Bishop, we opted for electricity and water and stayed at a commercial place, Brown’s Town, about ¼ mile south of the city. We gave up the idea of biking into town when we found we had a hard time even walking in the winds. Walked up and down the main drag, and stopped in at the Mountain Light Gallery, which features the photography of Galen Rowell. He was a National Geo photographer and mountain climber (solo’d El Cap) who died way too young in a plane crash, and I think his work is the color equivalent of Ansel Adams.’ This place is a must-see for anyone traveling 395. Back at the rig, I tried out for the first time my handy-dandy new multimeter ($10 on sale at Sears) on the power outlet. What? 174 volts? Tried another and got the same reading. Everyone else seemed to be hooked up just fine, so I marked it down as a defective meter and plugged in. No problems. We avoided the culinary temptations of Bishop, and ate in.

On to Mammoth the next day, with the winds almost entirely gone. Thank goodness. But, oye, a huge climb up the Sherwin Grade, from 4140 feet at Bishop to 7000 feet at the summit in only 15 miles or so. Have you ever seen a gas gauge needle literally move? Spectacular views of the mountains, though, as you trudge up the grade. Mammoth Lakes is a few miles west of 395, about 30 miles north of Bishop. We were headed for Old Shady Rest campground (USFS), which is right at the entrance to the town of Mammoth Lakes. Again, no hookups, but beautifully set in the pine forest. Our site again was just $9 a night, with the Golden Age passport, or whatever it’s called these days. Right across the main road in (SR203) was a commercial RV park with rates above $50, but of course with utilities. The solar panel is saving us mucho buckos.

We almost have the campground to ourselves. I’ll bet it isn’t 5% full, if that. No one is near our site. We drove all the loops to pick one out that had some sun exposure, despite the trees, so we could recharge. I think we got a great compromise, as we soaked up plenty of juice each day, but still were in the woods. We reserved it for the next 9 days, and settled in. The weather is spectacular--- blue skies, no wind, and 70+ degrees during the day. Utterly perfect. The nights got a little chilly, down into the low 40’s, but that’s what down comforters are for. All in all, we couldn’t ask for better weather. Stayed that way the whole time we were there. I decided not to shave this trip, and discovered I'm now a greybeard. Don't know whether to thank simple age or the cancer treatments for that.

The advantage of the Shady Rest campground is that it feels like you’re out in the woods, but you’re only two blocks from the beginning of the town, so walking or biking in is a snap. We did both throughout our stay. Got a paper each morning from the newsstand, an occasional pastry from Schatz Bakery, used the local library for emails, and caught a couple of movies at the local duplex. Just about perfect. Found a homey place to eat called “The Stove,” which features gargantuan portions of decent (not great, but no complaints) food and true home-made pies. Now, even though I still can’t taste any sweet, I’m still a sucker for pie a-la-mode, so we scarfed some blueberry down and left no prisoners. Hey, I gotta put back on a few pounds, after all. One afternoon found us at the Village, which is the upscale condo-commercial development just up the hill from town proper. One restaurant was having a half-price sale on the whole menu, including drinks, so we loaded up and watched sports for a couple of hours. Life is tough when you’re doing serious kicking-back.

Despite Loni’s best efforts in that regard, cooking wonderful meals and trying to stuff me at every turn, you burn a LOT of calories at that altitude, especially when you hike and bike further up the hill. Not having an ounce of fat to burn, I essentially always was operating on my last meal, and using it all up. I think I came back at an even lower weight than when we left. Upper 130’s, if you’re keeping track. Altitude aside, biking around Mammoth is great. Most streets have bike lanes, or dedicated side paths. There’s even a very nice bike trail loop that circles the area. And everyone in the town scrupulously stops for you if you so much as look at a crosswalk. Hope that’s not the result of some prior “incident.”

Speaking of incidents, don't try this at home or away. We have one of those cheapo, but useful, rectangular Weber grills that use a propane flame. Has a lid on it, and a starter button on the side. The drill is to hook up the propane tank, let it run for about a minute, then push the starter. Simple. Yehhhhh. Don't: (1) leave the lid on while running the initial gas feed and (2) put your head down close to the unit when you go to press the igniter. KAWHOOOMPH! Lid blows up and off, banging head. Flame leaps out and singes hair. Idiot stands there and says "I don't believe I just did that," then goes in for skull examination by dear wife. Had a lot of trouble combing my hair for the rest of the trip. It gets real stiff.

We drove the rig up to the Twin Lakes/Lake Mary area, and parked at Mary. Broke out the bikes and toured around, including a ride up to Horseshoe Lake. Very weird surroundings there, with acres of dead trees. We first thought it was due to the infamous bark beetles that have devastated other areas of the Sierras, but a sign posted near the lake set us straight. The whole area sits on top of deposits of CO2 which get trapped by the snow and saturate the upper layers of the soil. They warn people not to walk alone in case one trips and falls and lands in a “pool” of the stuff and passes out. Yikes. We stayed upright, and tried to hike upslope to another lake, but stopped after half a mile due to snow banks crossing the path. Mucho exhausted at that altitude, so we ate our sack lunches where we stopped, and came back down. The lower areas, around the other lakes, aren’t subject to that problem and they were beautiful. Again, virtually no one there so we had it to ourselves.

Another day we drove up to Devil’s Postpile. We just managed to beat the cutoff date for this, because for the rest of the summer you can’t drive in there between 7am and 7pm. Travel is only by shuttle during those hours as the road is narrow and the parking is limited. We found a very nice small campground at the Postpile trailhead, right next to a rushing river, so decided to stay a night there instead of returning to Shady Rest. Except for a Grizzly Adams look-a-like in the adjacent site, the place was empty at night. Very nice falling asleep to the sound of the rapids. Hiked into the Postpile, and it looks exactly like the pictures. Very strange formation, but smaller than I expected. We decided to hike on down (and what goes down, must come back UP) 2 1/2 miles to the upper (best) and lower Rainbow Falls. The upper is a pretty impressive 101 foot drop, and really does have rainbows at the base if you get there at mid-day, which we did. Having done it, I wouldn’t bother again with the lower falls, which are more a series of rapids.

The downside of visiting the local library is that my few remaining clients could contact me with “urgent” work requests. The upside is that by working a few hours I could pay for the darn gas for the trip!

We saw an old 1970 LazyDaze that had a for sale sign posted ($3,000). It was in fair shape for its age, although no beauty. I took some photos and eventually posted a sale notice on the LD group forum site. I suspect it’s more of a Craig’s List candidate, however.

All in all, we highly recommend the Mammoth area for its sheer beauty, convenience, and amenities. You can get a fine wilderness experience and balance that off with what the town has to offer. The best of both worlds.

CANCER CHRONICLES PART III: YESSSSSS!

Uncross those fingers, everyone. The doc says that the scans are all he hoped for. No spreading anywhere, the target tumor greatly reduced to the point where what's left is most likely scar tissue or something like that. This, of course, is not a get-out-of-jail-free card, since the best medical science can offer is a reprieve of remission. I'LL TAKE IT! This is supposed to be a s**t-eating grin picture, but it's the best I can do. Believe me, I'm grinning inside as wide as I can. Unfortunately, my taste buds are still shot, and wine tastes just awful. A good thing, perhaps, as I would have splurged big-time tonight. Just have to smack my lips over that glass of milk, I guess. There are pages of results from the scans, but the gist seems to be:

"Interval resolution of intense hypermetabolic activity in the right base of tongue and right cervical lymph nodes suggesting good response to chemoradiation therapy. There is a small focus of mild hypermetabolic activity in the right pharynx inferior to the base of the tongue which may represent inflammatory/post radiation changes, however residual/recurrent disease cannot be excluded. Recommend close follow-up. Interval stable diffuse hypermetabolic activity in the right lobe of the thyroid with more focal activity in the medial portion and no clear CT correlation is likely of benign etiology, however recommend clinical and radiographic follow-up."

So, out of the woods, but watch out for the trees.

I'll be on regular monitoring every few months or so, but absent any setback, this will be the last of the Cancer Chronicles. We'll return this blog to the regular programming of endless nonsense about our RV travels.

Thank you all for the good thoughts, kind words, positive vibes, and prayers. They certainly made me feel better throughout this experience. It's good to have friends. There's an understatement!

CANCER CHRONICLES PART 2

I'm getting a number of inquiries (thank you all) about the progress, so I guess I'm overdue for updating this blog. Treatments are over! Last chemo was Feb 13, and the last radiation was Feb 29. I'm happy to be rid of them both. I took a selection of my favorite bakery's pastries to the radiation techs on the last day. They seemed quite touched. Guess their patients generally just disappear after they're done. They were a good bunch, however, and made those 35 minute sessions (every day) as tolerable as humanly possible, and I'm grateful for their good care. I got turned on to some new music by one of the techs, who went so far as to burn me some CDs of his favorites. Pink Martini, anyone? My neck was an ugly mess after the radiation, and I walked around with my collar turned up or with something wrapped around it, both so as to avoid stares and to avoid getting any sun on it. Happy to say that it went through the usual ghastly peeling process, with baby-smooth new skin to replace the old. It's all healed now, except for some minor stuff around the edges, which will fade. A paradox of the radiation is that the throat continues to get worse for the first ten to fourteen days after the last treatment. Zowie. Like having multiple icepicks jabbed into you with each swallow. I'd been on a liquids-only diet for a while before that, and I sure stayed on it for those additional two weeks. Finely blended soups, shakes, etc. Even with those, I lost about 14 pounds. Yikes. William Powell had nothing on me, brother. I'm walking around with rocks in my pockets to keep from being blown away. In mid-March, I tried my first solid food -- mac 'n cheese. Couldn't taste it , but at least it went down without killing me. The tide has turned on the throat pain, and it's been steadily diminishing since then. Down to your basic cold's sore-throat, with a hot spot where, I hope, the tumor is dying. I really want to get to work on the taste buds. Went to a birthday party which featured a fabulous (so I'm told) flourless chocolate cake that had everyone's eyes rolling. Me? Nada. The texture was great, but not a hint of sweetness or chocolate. Bummer. I never did lose all my hair. In fact, from the front and sides, I look about the same (despite the gaunt face); it's only from the back that you can see the fallout. The reverse mullet look, but with Loni's careful trimming it simply looks like an aggressive military cut.

We got the RV out of storage and headed up the coast. Two days at Jalama Beach (see sunset at left; click to enlarge; that's the rig's license plate glowing at the bottom right), four at Morro Bay, and two at Lake Cachuma on the way home. Had an excellent time. Even got the bikes out for the first time in months and promptly got a flat. Guess I'll stick to walking. Here we are at Montano de Oro Park, just south of Morro. Those pocket rocks came in handy as it was windy.

So, what now? On May 6, I go in for a series of CT scans to see what happened as a result of the treatments. I've got a meeting on May 8 with my medical oncologist, who presumably will have the scan results by then. If I'm "clear" (remission), then I'll go on my merry way with periodic follow-ups. If not, well . . . . . let's not go there. So, if you have a couple of spare fingers around those dates, give them a cross and me a thought. I will follow up with the results, whatever they may be.

We're off to Indianapolis next week for my Mom's 85th. She's been in good health up to now, but she recently had a sky-high blood pressure spike and collapsed at the supermarket. She's had every test imaginable (which is good, since she hadn't seen a doctor in 15 years) and they still don't know what caused it. She seems to be back to normal and is ready to be stuffed with cake. With that, I'll end this with thanks to so many of you for the kind words and thoughts you've given me over the last few months. 45th reunion in Motown this July? How about the 27th? Best regards, Jon.

THE CANCER CHRONICLES

[Click on any pic to enlarge] Well, this certainly isn't an entry that I ever thought I'd be making. The Modesto gang will recall my "lumpy neck" message after our get-together at Mike's memorial service last November 10. If they will indulge me, I'll repeat it here for background purposes. Starting the Friday night before the service, I began to get a sore throat and felt a lump on the right side of my neck. I figured I was getting a swollen lymph gland. By morning it was a bit bigger and (to me) definitely noticeable. I was having a bit of trouble swallowing as well. At our lunch, I definitely was having problems and could barely get my clam chowder down, delicious as it was. I have to tell you, it was one miserable trip home down I-5 that night as I could barely get a sip of water down without lurching my head to the left and forcing a painful swallow. The lump was feeling grotesque. Got home at about 9:45 and Loni thought it was ER time. The thing bulged out the size of half a large apple. On my skinny neck, that's something. I stayed home that night, but went off to the ER at Santa Monica-UCLA Med Center on Sunday morning. They CAT-scanned me, poked, prodded, puzzled, and told me I would be their guest for a while. By now I'm looking like half-goiter boy. I spent the rest of Sunday, Monday, and until 4:00 Tuesday afternoon on IV drips of antibiotics, steroids, and something to protect the stomach from the first two, with the usual every-two-hours vital signs check. My lovely roommate (many tats, wild eyes) mumble-sang "American Pie" in his sleep, used his call button a lot to summon the nurses to untangle his lines (resulting in loudspeaker responses), used the t.v. as a night light, and had a diarrhea problem where he had to scream for the nurses to unhook him from his lines so he could get to the bathroom "NOW or by GOD I'm going to shit right here in the bed!" The fleet-footed nurses managed to spare me the consequences. It was a fun few days. At that time, they didn't know if it was just infection or if there was some tumor base, and were analyzing the biopsy, etc. Meanwhile, the post-hospital oral antibiotics took the lump down to about one small egg size. Then came Black Monday, November 19.

We were getting ready to leave the next day for San Francisco to spend Thanksgiving with the boys. Got a call from my family doc who started with the dread words, "I'm sorry." Gulp. These are not the words you want to hear from any medical practitioner. The biopsy results showed "large number of malignant cells consistent with squamous cell carcinoma." The more defined description is "Right Oropharyngeal Tumor." This proved to be a stage 3 (local, but advanced) cancer. Seems to be centered at the right base of the tongue and right tonsil. This is not, as I would find later, a great place to have a tumor.

I met that same day with the oral surgeon who had seen me in the hospital, who cheerily pronounced both that we would "grow old together" (wonder how HIS health is) and that this was not a candidate for surgery due to its location and involvement with other structures. Yikes. In short order I collected a medical oncologist (for chemo) and a radiation oncologist for the zapper. Since the holiday was coming up, there weren't any appointments available for another week, so we went off to S.F. for Thanksgiving. No reason to spoil the fun, so we just left it as an "infected gland" and had a great time with the boys, eating, and touring the City.

Back home again, the next step was to get a CT scan and a PET scan to determine whether there was any metastasis. These proved negative for any remote spreading, so there was some positive in all of this. We can concentrate on the one spot. Much planning goes into attacking these things. First, the medical and the radiation oncologists have to agree on a course of action. Traditionally, one gets a course of chemo, followed by a course of radiation. However, studies are showing better results if these are done concurrently. That's more effective on the tumor, but a more severe assault on the body. Of course, my guys disagreed, so there was some anxiety while they, ah, "discussed" it. Concurrent won out. The radiation is all computer-controlled these days (at least at UCLA, where I'm having this all done). For head-and-neck cancers, they have to fit you with a plastic mesh full-head mask. Once they fit you with one of these (like draping warm limp plastic all over your face), it hardens into a replica of your noggin. They use this, in conjunction with the head scans that they took, to establish where to aim the xray beams. They mark the loci on the mask. Then when you go in for the actual treatment, you lie on your back, they fit the mask over your face, latch it down to the table so you can't move (for 35 minutes each time), set the computer, and fire away (after scampering for safety to the adjacent control room). The zapper is a huge beast that rotates 360 degrees around your head, whirring and buzzing as it does its thing. Fortunately, they have a nice boom box in the room and you can bring your own CD's to pass the time. As I write this, I've just completed the fourth week of daily (M-F) zap sessions, with three weeks to go.

I've also completed five weeks of chemo (every Wednesday), with one to go. For the chemo, they have to install a port-a-cath in your chest. This is a subcutaneous catheter port that has a line extending up into the jugular. That was another operation, done under local. Very weird feeling. The purpose of the thing is to avoid having to use smaller vessels in the arms: the catheter here goes right into a major-flow vessel, so the drugs get dispersed much better. The first time I got the chemo was a doozy. I had a reaction to the drugs almost immediately, consisting of extreme lower back pain (has it crowned yet?) which had me utilizing the Lamaze methods that I practiced with Loni so many years ago. The nurse was right on it, got more pain drugs into me, slowed down the flow rate, and we were good to go. A nasty fifteen minutes, though, which I don't care to repeat. The second time, we adusted the pain meds up, the flow rate down, and all I got was a twitchy left leg that had me kicking every minute or so for about a half hour. We've now got that down to just feeling like it wants to twitch, but doesn't. Fun and games at the chemo center.

The chemo effects (nausea, listlessness) kick in for me on the third day after the treatment, and last for three days. Your mileage may vary. The chemo also boosts the effects of the radiation, so the weekends are not much fun. The radiation and chemo have destroyed my taste buds. Everything has this metallic cardboard taste, and eating is a chore, not a pleasure. On the days when the radiation fry is worst, I'm down to drinking Ensure and the like as the mouth and throat are so sore that I can't swallow anything else. I am definitely looking forward to the last of the chemo, in the hope that some of these effects will lessen as I complete the radiation.

The goal, of course, is to get a PET scan at the end of the month that says, "It's gone." I am avoiding all thought of having to go through another round of treatment. "OUT, DAMN SPOT!"

Relatively speaking, I have it good. I can only wish that poor Mike had gotten a timely diagnosis and then decent treatment. My infected lump was my warning bell. But Mike and I are not the only of the Modesto gang to engage this disease. Some of you might know, but others not, that Jim G has been battling a much worse diagnosis since last Fall. He had stage 4 non-small-cell bronchogenic lung cancer. He had immediate chemotherapy, and a PET scan in November showed no evidence of cancer, so he's classified as in remission. The average length for this remission is six months, but could be much longer. Let's hope it's forever. Jim has been providing me with the support of a fellow traveler, comparing symptoms and light-at-the-end-of-the-tunnel encouragement, for which I am grateful. I'm sending every good thought his way. Perhaps a 50th Motown reunion in Seattle?

Most important to this process is Loni. She is an absolute rock. She puts up with all the moaning and groaning, makes me homemade soups to swallow when the throat is painful, keeps me positive, and has taken on all the chores that I no longer have the energy to do. In good times and bad. Amen.

JUNE 16-17 NATURAL BRIDGES and UNNATURAL TUBA CITY

SATURDAY. Adios, Mesa Verde. At least now we get to coast downhill instead of climbing. Good thing, as we seem to be mighty low on gas. Into Cortez and stop at a Conoco. It's packed with a Class A, some trailers, another C, and various cars, with lines at all islands. We get in behind a minivan, figuring they'll fill fast and clear the way. What we didn't count on was it was a replay of National Lampoon's "Vacation." An old geezer (yes, I can still call someone else old geezer) gets out of the shotgun seat and stands transfixed at the choices and decisions required by a modern gas pump. Five others pile out-- three teens, grandma, and mom -- and file into the minimart for the bathrooms or food. While gramps figures out the pump, Dad gets out of the driver seat and unloads an ice chest and wanders off to find bagged ice. We're trapped. Literally! Every other island cycles through 3-4 cars before this clown family struggles back, reloads the goods and themselves, and finally crawl away, totally oblivious to us waiting. Two credit-card swipes later ($75 limit), we're full and off to Wal-Mart ---our very first ever shop in one. Hey, they don't have any on the west side of L.A.! Sat in the parking lot and made phone calls, now that we have service. Talked to Bob, Rick, John (msg) and Mike, whom we reached while he and Alia were in a limo with other friends on their way to Napa for a wine-tour birthday celebration. Not bad. Things must be good in the geology biz. Out of Cortez and off to natural Bridges. Fairly unremarkable drive, especially after all the scenery we've seen. Again, we slog uphill interminably. Don't ask about gas mileage. Natural bridges is high, hot, and nothing but scrub oak and junipers all around. We decide to flop until late afternoon, then attempted a bike ride to the first arch. However, the road began descending far too much and we give up, mindful that we have to eventually pedal/walk back up. We'll save it for a drive tour tomorrow. Back to the rig for dinner. Loni outdoes herself with salmon over salad, with hot veggies and potatoes in it. Scrumptious. When we were at the visitor center, we learned that this park is one of the certified "Dark Sky" locations of the world, meaning virtually no light pollution to ruin stargazing, and tonight there is a special ranger astronomy session which only happens a few times a year. We have lucked out. We made our way to the viewing area about 9:30 pm. Tonight there is only the sliveriest of moons, and it will set completely at 10:30. Yeegads it is dark! The Ranger has an 8" cassegrain, and he had us view Saturn's rings, Jupiter's moons (4), double stars, and a cluster galaxy, which was very cool. The night was clear, dead calm, and about 65 degrees. Life is very good.

SUNDAY. 6:50 a.m. We've been up for 20 minutes and a knock comes at our door. It's the father from the next site asking if we have any plastic spoons so his daughters can eat their cereal. Nope, but we loan him two metal ones. He thanks us and goes back. To bed. A half-hour later, we're ready to take off. The spoons are neatly laid out on the picnic table awaiting the sleeping beauties to rouse. Left a note for him to put the spoons at our site marker and we'd be back to collect them after touring the arches. So, why did he come knocking at 6:50 if they were going to still be sleeping? We pull out to visit the sights. The first arch is way down in the canyon, at least a 500 foot drop in less than 1/4 mile. Steps, a ladder, metal stairs, and a rocky footpath. Loni is a trooper and we make it down and back in 50 minutes. We bag the second one from the overlook, but the third is easy to get to, and spectacular viewed from underneath. Pretty nifty formations, which is severe understatement for features that have taken thousands of years to develop. But I'm out of hyperbole. Back to our site, and our spoons are indeed clipped to the post with a thank-you note. We depart, to head for Monument Valley. The road south from NB is SR261. Warning! Abandon all hope, ye who enter here. The first thing we see as we turn onto this road is a large sign warning that there are 27 miles of gravel road coming up. Huh? It's shown as paved on the map. We press on. At about the 1/3 mark, the asphalt paving indeed stops and we're on a very hard-rolled-and-sealed gravel, which is virtually indistinguishable from the asphalt. No sweat, we say. This road runs down the length of a high plateau. When we're about 10 miles from the end, new warning signs appear: "Steep downgrade (10%)." And, the road, previously straight as an arrow, begins to wind and . . .turns . . . into . . . REAL GRAVEL. Loose, not packed, washboardy, and rutted. Posted limit is 5 mph! I believe it. This turns into the gulpiest road we've been on, ever. One lane wide, with very few wider spots for the two-way traffic to cope. No guardrails. Sheer dropoffs of 500 to 1,000 feet. Hairpin turns in excess of 180 degrees. At one point we saw an oncoming car below us, so we found a slightly wide spot and pulled in on the mountain side to wait for it to reach us. As we watched, we saw that the driver was steering with one hand. When he got closer we saw why. His face was frozen in a rictus, and he was constantly crossing himself with the other hand! He looked paralyzed with fear. As we descended, Loni thought she was going to be sick every time she looked out her window and found herself looking straight down the cliff. We crept down, slow and steady. The hairpins were particularly fun. I'm glad we're not any longer. A longer wheelbase would have conniptions. As of this day, however, I no longer have ANY fear of driving this thing anywhere. This has got to be the ultimate test. I need to write the Michelin road atlas people, as they don't show this at all. After five miles of this we're at the bottom and back to pavement. We decided to bypass the Valley of the Gods as it's off on another 20 mile loop of gravel road that I can to without. On to Monument Valley. This part of the country is what I had always fixed in my mind as the quintessential rv-ing trip --- huge vistas with a lonely road disappearing into the distance ahead. We sure got that, but I thought there would be a lot more of the classic buttes that you always see in photos of this area. The only really good views of them were from the Navajo park, which is a $5/person entry fee. Once in, you basically see about five major buttes from a high viewpoint. These are the ones you see in commercials and travelogues. Impressive, yes, but a bit less so than expected. I think we're getting jaded.

We left the Navajo park, on our way now to the Grand Canyon. We plan to break up the drive by staying in Tuba City, which we think we're familiar with from the Tony Hillerman mysteries. What we didn't know was how depressingly ugly the place is. It appears to have been dropped at random from a great height, and everything just stuck where it landed. Like Oakland, there's no "there" there, only more so. The only and homely RV park came complete with leaky faucet and impressive barking dogs all the way to midnight from the trailer-trash park immediately adjacent. The place DID have cable, however, which was not a blessing, as we suffered through Woody Harrelson's stupidity in "The Cowboy Way." Yech, it was awful. Still, it beat the alternative, which was walking the alleyways of Tuba City.

JUNE 14-15, 2007 "On To Mesa Verde"

THURSDAY. This is the second time through for this post. Blogger facilitated my accidental deletion of a couple hours work! I was so disgusted that it's taken me two months or so to get back to doing it again. Since then, we've already done another 5-week trip and attended a Caravan at Anza Borrego. More on both later (probably much later). Anyway, good-bye to Telluride as we head south and, again, up, up, up. This is glorious country that looks just like every ad for Colorado that you've seen. Green slopes covered with healthy trees, snow-capped peaks, endless vistas. We topped out our climb at 10,240 feet at Lizard Head Pass. From here, at last, it's pretty much of a downhill roll through picture-perfect ranches with free-range beef. Now, with those views, these cows are happy! Seeing lots of motorcycles today, including one clown who overtook me, passed over a double yellow on a blind hill curve, and had to ccareen right in front of me to avoid being bug splat on the oncoming truck. His traveling buddies all dropped back behind Albatross until it's really safe to go by. We hit Cortez at last, and turned east towards the park entrance down the road. At the entrance, we flash our interagency pass, collect our brochures, and start . . to . . . climb. The campground is up about four miles, and is fairly bleak. Plus, AAA's camping guidebook is misleading. The wording made it seem like there were several hundred sites with hookups. Wrong. Several hundred, yes, but only 15 with hookups, and all of them long since reserved. Virtually everything else is deserted. We took off to survey the potential sites, picked a likely suspect based on anticipated afternoon shade (shadow eyeball method), then drove back to the registration center4 to lay claim. Decided to go see the sites before settling in. This is a weird park. The visitor center is 10 miles further in on a winding and climbing road, and the actual ruins are another 6 to 10 miles further still. All in all, it's a long slow drive to the goods. We signed up at the visitor center for a tour of Cliff Palaces for later today, and Balcony house tomorrow a.m. You can't view any ruin without a ranger accompanying., but you can get into Spruce Tree Lodge w/o a reservation, so did that first. All of these are nifty in the sense of awe that people actually took the effort to live in such inaccessible places, and their skill in crafting stone buildings that have sttod for over 700 years. Why they bothered is still a mystery, as there is no evidence of any violence or warfare in the area. We shot lots of pics and asked the rangers tons of questions. The museum at Spruce Tree is excellent, if this is your thing. Spruce Tree had easy access, and was overrun with tourists (where are they staying? Not at the campground!) like us. Cliff Palace is more difficult to reach, and the climb out is by a couple of ladders almost straight up the face of the cliff. I'm amazed that hundreds of thousands of people do this each year. Cliff Palace was huge, with 23 ceremonial kivas and over 100 rooms. Most interesting factoid was that the entire population suffered from emphysema from living in small enclosed spaces with fires buring in the center pits. Back to the campground and our "shady" site. So much for the shadow eyeball method of predicting the sun's path. No shade, worse, after 20 minutes of wasted gas and a steam of my best Navy invective, we gave up trying to get level at this spot. Tried an adjacent site and it was much easier. Once in, I wasn't going to move the rig, so I unloaded my bike to pedal back to the reservation center to tell them of the change. Biking at 7,880 feet is a woofer going uphill! The reso center is in the same room as a small store. The leveling frustration requires a bit of the grape to smooth out the psyche, so I perused the extensive selection of 5 reds and 5 whites that were available, all of them associated with the Rutherford Winery, even the New Zealand Sauvignon Blanc that was imported by said Rutherford. Plopped it in my basket and gave it a thorough mixing on the trip back to the rig. Loni made a yummy stir fry of chicken, potatoes, carrots, and other goodies, with Ghiardelli chocolate for desert. We killed the bottle with a stroll around our loop to watch the first really red sunset of the trip. Finished off my re-read of A.C. Clarke's "City & The Stars" and once again realized that some things go better with youth. Ended the night with the penultimate episode of Ballykissangel. Good series. We'll be sorry to see it end.
We're still new enough at this rv-ing that we have this inexplicable delight at being parked in the middle of nowhere, without hookups, yet still watching dvd's with all the comforts of home.

FRIDAY Much warmer night last night. The coach interior was at 62 degrees, substantially higher than the 49 at Gunnison. At our usual and were on our way at 8:00 to our 9:20 tour. As we passed the dump station on the way out of the camp, something looked mighty familiar about the rig and the gent who was dumping tanks. YES! It was the internet-blog-famous "Tioga and George!" George is perhaps the most-viewed rv-oriented blogger on the internet, and I've followed his adventures for about a year and a half. Never thought we would cross paths. I hit the brakes and we backed up next to his rig to chat. He's amazingly the same in person as he appears through his blog. We took mutual pictures together, and had him in to see the rig. He thinks LD is the best on the market and worth 50k more than they charge. Whoa, slow down, George, don't give the factory any bad ideas. We complimented him on his rig's new paint job, which we followed being applied down in Mexico. Some serendipity. As George would say, "Wow!" Rest of the day was anticlimatic -- just another 700 year-old ruin. Actually, Balcony House was pretty neat as both the entry to it and the exit were done by long ladders, stair-steps with chains, a narrow passageway, and a hands-and-knees crawl through a small tunnel. Claustrophobia, anyone? Acrophobia, anyone? You get it all at Balcony House. Finished the tour, and headed back to the camp for showers and laundry, with a lunch stop first at a terrific turnout called Montezuma Overlook. Despite the name, lunch stayed with us. Started "Great American Short Stories" edited by Wallace Stegner (1957), one of the 50cents paperbacks we bought from the library at Moab. Finished the laundry and motored back to the unshady-but-reasonably-level site for journal writing and watching the newcomers in the space next to us try to level their rigs. Entertainment is where you find it.