BALLOONS

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Having worn out our welcome in Carlsbad, we left Brantley State Park and motored north about 70 miles to Roswell to visit the UFO museum. Ah, America. When we arrived we found the main street blocked off and a parade underway to celebrate the opening of the Eastern NM State Fair. Well, we couldn’t miss that so we pulled into a grocery store parking lot and watched the parade in all its small town glory. Love this stuff. We located an RV park close to the fairgrounds and elected to walk to the fair instead of scooting. Hmmm. Could have sworn it was closer on the map. Almost two miles, which wasn’t so bad in the twilight going over, but was an adventure in the pitch-black countryside at night. Did I mention before that drinking and driving is a New Mexican pastime? We got way off the road and walked in a ditch (dry). The fair was your typical agricultural community affair, with animal judging (we watched the goats, and were amazed the judge could detect differences in what appeared to be generic animals), baked goods, crafts, thrill rides, an old-time midway with (gasp) two-headed animals, and all the kettle corn, funnel cakes, and fried twinkies (and other things) you could want. Brought back memories of the county fairs we had in the Central Valley, and was all good. We saved the UFO museum for the next day. If you’re here anyway, it’s a must see, but otherwise it’s a humorous aside the lack of which won’t diminish your life. They actually try to play it straight, giving both sides of the “story.” When all is said and done, we all know the government couldn’t keep such a thing secret for all these years, but you have to wonder just what they WERE trying to cover up.
We next headed west on I-70 and climbed into the mountains through Ruidoso, home of the famed quarterhorse track, and which has to be the longest, skinniest town we’ve ever been through. It goes for miles along one road, and not more than a block to either side. Definitely tourist oriented, with scads of shops and restaurants. We went on a little higher to the appropriately named town of Alto and spent the night in one of the nicest commercial parks we’ve seen. Beautiful grounds and surroundings, and even had working wifi, so we caught up on emails although I didn’t get anything posted to the blog. Great hot showers and a laundry, both of which we took advantage of. Because we want to conserve our water and propane, and because it gets a little chilly in the rig in the mornings, we mostly do sponge baths with the occasional full-blown shower, but take advantage of the local facilities whenever available. Surprisingly, many of the state parks in AZ and NM offer hot showers. Too bad CA is so screwed up.
Our next stop was to be a gathering of the Southwest Lazy Daze group at Manzano State Park in the Manzano Mountains south of Albuquerque. We decided to take the back roads, so after descending onto the plains we took US54 north to SR55, the latter of which zigzag across the terrain. Two lanes, no shoulder, nothing but range land all around. We saw herds of antelope along the way, and not a single car for the first 30 minutes. Ford, don’t fail me now! The last quarter mile to the Manzano park, unfortunately, was dirt, and the dust we kicked up coated everything, especially the scooter, even though it was covered. The bottom is still open and the dust just swirls up and coats it. The park is up in the pines elevation, quite nice and dead quiet at night. There were 11 other LD rigs there, and we met some very nice folks from all over (Florida to San Diego). Like us, the distant travelers were just passing through on the way to ABQ. Had a nice pot luck dinner, which I dragged my camera out for, set it down on the ground while eating, and promptly . . . yup, forgot it. We left the next morning (Thursday), after dumping tanks and filling with water as we would be staying in a field for the balloon fest. We navigated ABQ traffic ok, with no thanks to the signage. My only gripe about NM is that it is horribly signed. There’s a lot of guessing about what street you’re encountering (or passing). On arrival, we were met by ten or so early LD arrivals and settled in. The parking is just a huge dirt field with nary a blade of grass in sight. By the middle of the week, it was filled with thousands of RVs of all shapes and sizes, and a few hearty souls in tents. We got primo location, close to the entrance, and spaces for the 34 LD rigs that had signed up. After leveling up the front, we went out and communed with the others, including the amazing Texan, Tessa, and her three kids. She and the kids took off in their LD, “Ciao Baby”, at the beginning of the summer, and have traveled all over the West, hitting every national park and monument from Texas to Alaska, and were on their way back home for a brief break before continuing on through Central America to Panama. Dear Dad stays home and makes the wherewithal to finance this adventure. The kids are home schooled, display maturity well beyond their years, and manners that leave you shaking your head in admiration. After Panama, they will ship the LD to Europe where they will tour all around before storing it there as their future European pied-a-terre. From there they will fly to China before returning home. Wow. My family went to the seashore.
Friday we set off to sign up on a chase crew. The cognoscenti told us that you only had to work it once, but that earned you a pass to all of the events for the entire week. Since each entry costs $6 , and there were morning and evening events, this is a great deal. We went to the registration, told them which day we wanted to work, and they assign you to a pilot who has need of crew that day. Volunteer crew are important as it takes a certain number of bodies to launch and retrieve, and with nearly 700 balloons lifting off in the space of an hour, that’s a lot of manpower needed. We got assigned to “Flying Colors” out of Colorado, piloted by Marv McKinny. We got our free passes, watched a 30 minute video on what not to do (no nylon clothes as they can set off a spark, don’t cut any range fences to get to the balloon, never stand in front of the basket when it is taking off, etc.), and pronounced ourselves ready to commit mayhem. Next we hit the Anderson (Maxie)-Abruso (Ben) Albuquerque International Balloon Museum, which is another must-see. The history of ballooning from the Montgolfiers to the namesake guys, and utterly fascinating. Great docents with interesting stories and very nicely done displays and artifacts. Our appetites were whetted for the big show, the first mass ascension set for Saturday morning. But first, the other appetite was sated by another potluck that evening. I will say that the LDers put on a good spread wherever they are.
All balloon ascensions are made when the


winds are non-existent or light, generally not to exceed 10mph. For the Fiesta, that means EARLY morning. Although we weren’t scheduled to crew until Monday, we wanted to see how it was done so we got up at 0-dark 30 (I think that’s 4:30) to have breakfast, dress in about nine layers, and walk to the staging area.


Even at that hour the traffic was pouring into the parking area. The forecast for Sunday the next ascension) was rain, so everyone local who couldn’t take off during the week wanted to be there for this liftoff. The field itself was dark, with rows of numbered cones with tiny blue lights on top to mark the areas where each balloon was to set up. We found B-6, which is where our pilot was assigned. His truck and gear were there, but no bodies. Seems like the pilot gets to go off and have breakfast and briefings while his crew stands around in the dark. He must have had experienced crew that day because we waited alone for quite awhile before they showed up.
The routine is this. First you unload the big fan, then the envelope (balloon, for you novices), and finally the basket. The envelope is in a big round bag about three to four feet across and three feet high. The bottom of the envelope comes out first, and while someone holds that, the rest of the crew heft up the bag (about 300 pounds) and walk it away with the envelope trailing out. Once that is stretched out, the pilot and his crew chief start untangling the wires that connect the envelope to the basket, and get those hooked up. The basket at this time is on its side, with the top facing the envelope. The burners are then attached to the top of the harp that forms the “handle” of the basket. The baskets are all wicker as it is both strong and flexible (for those bumpy landings), as well as traditional, dating back to the Montgolfiers. Inside are three or more big propane tanks, about twice the size of dive tanks used by scubas. Once everything is attached to the basket (including instruments for altitude, envelope temperature, etc), the mouth of the envelope is held open by two crew while the big fan is wheeled up close. The fan is used for the initial inflation and puts out a hurricane of air. It is aimed into the mouth, and the envelope slowly begins to swell and straighten out. The crew scurries around pulling on the fabric to help it inflate. Once it actually looks like a balloon on its side, it’s time to light the burners and shoot flames into the mouth. At this point, the two crew who have been holding it open for the fan



lengthen their grip on the ropes so they aren’t too close to the flames. Crispy critter warning. The fan is turned off and the hot air shooting in begins to enlarge the balloon. It slowly rises to upright, being held more or less steady during the process by a crewman holding a long rope that extends from the crown of the balloon down to the ground. The bigger balloons require more than one person doing this, and if there’s a breeze it can be a challenge. Once the balloon is upright, the pilot can keep it that way by periodic bursts of flame, without lifting off. Now, imagine this taking place on a field with 600+ other balloons. The sight and sounds are incredible. Brilliant colors, huge shapes without weight, dragonbreath sounds. The field is controlled by “zebras,” men and women wearing referee outfits who determine the order and timing of each launch. When the zebra says it is ok for you to lift off, the pilot loads his passenger(s) (ours could take only one), and gives out with a long flame burst until he achieves buoyancy. The crew then hangs on to the side of the basket and walks the balloon forward while the flaming continues, and then all of a sudden it just floats up and away, pilot and passenger grinning like fools, and the crew gazing wistfully up. Although we crewed three days, we didn’t get a ride as the pilot’s sponsor showed up and his people got to go. Commercial rides were being offered at the Fiesta premium pricing of $350. Nah. I can do without.
Once launched, the crew piles into the truck, with the machos in the bed and the ladies in the cab, and take off, trying to follow your balloon amongst all the
others. For the most part, that’s not too hard, as balloons are virtually all unique in their colors and patterns. Some are pretty close, but it wasn’t difficult picking our guy out. The pilot and crew chief also are in communication by radio, but they have to keep the transmissions brief because of the sheer numbers of participants and limited bandwidth. Our first chase ended before it began, as our pilot decided not to launch because of the speed and direction of the winds. As it turns out, most of the local pilots, and many of the old hands from out of state, made the same decision. The ones that did ascend took off like a shot to the southwest, which is towards ABQ proper. Not a lot of landing places down there.



There were quite a bit of hard and distant landings. Our second shot was more successful, and the balloon took off towards the northwest. Turns out he had fun and skimmed the Rio Grande while we were trying to keep him in sight. We ended up about 8 miles away from the launch, and he came down in the wilds of Rio Rancho. We had to bounce over dirt paths and then over the desert in order to get to him. The landing was a bit rough and the basket bounced and dragged for quite a ways (we saw the gouge marks across the desert). Of course, there were the obligatory prickly pear cactus and cholla at the landing site, so we were picking those out of things for quite a while after. The packup is just the reverse of the launch procedure. After squeezing the envelope to expel the hot air, you form a chain and start stuffing it into the bag, starting with the top. The bag is lifted after each stuff and is walked up the envelope a couple of feet for the next stuff. After it’s all in, everyone sits on it to expel the last of the air before pulling the drawstrings on the bag to tie it up. The truck, fortunately, has a lift gate, so we could heft these things onto it without multiple hernias all around. Still, many hands are needed as both the bag and the basket are bulky and heavy.
We then return to the launch site, set up a canopy and chairs, and break out the munchies and bubbly, talk, and watch the antics of the other crews who seem to prefer stronger drink. Our second launch was much like the first, only this time he came down in the sticks on a hillside. He kept it upright until we could reach him, and then achieved just enough buoyancy so that we could walk him down the hill to a dirt road for the deflation. This would have been easier without the aforementioned prickly pear getting underfoot. Ouch. On Friday, we opted not to crew (Marv had enough help) and instead watched the competition portion. The balloons launch from a remote site upwind of the main field and try to maneuver right over the field to do a couple of things. First, they have weighted streamers that they want to drop closest to a pin flag set in a marked circle. Second, they want to grab a key bag from the top of a thirty foot pole (there were multiple drop “greens” and five poles) as they float past. This requires low level maneuvering, and if your basket touches the ground you are disqualified. There were lots of accurate drops (well, throws in some cases) and amazingly two balloons picked off keys and three had them but dropped them. The keys fit various cars that were offered by sponsors. We were told that this is about 10% skill and 90% luck-of-the-winds, but it was a hoot to watch.
Tragedy struck the Fiesta this year as one balloon got swept into power lines. The basket exploded and both pilots were ejected at about 30 feet above ground. One was dead from his burns before the safety folks got to him, the other is still alive and expected to survive. More bad news followed as high winds and rain caused the cancellation of all flights on the final Saturday and Sunday of the event. We were very glad we got there for the whole 10 days and were able to see multiple ascensions. The late arrivals got shut out.
On Wednesday, we got the scooter in for its initial and mandatory 600 mile service
whre they take out the break-in oil, retorque everything, etc. It has performed like a champ. We do our grocery shopping and laundry runs on it. Thursday afternoon (the 9th) we set out for the top of the Sandia Mountains behind ABQ. That’s an elevation gain of over 3,000 feet (to 8,000+) and it pulled all the way without a hitch. I did have the throttle maxed a few times, but we didn’t hold up any traffic. We were looking for the restaurant at the top of the peak, since it was Loni’s birthday, but we never found the right side road or saw any sign (thanks again, NM). We did make the crest and had a fabulous 360 degree view. However, the wind was blowing up there and it was COLD, so we packed off for ABQ and an alternate dinner site. Having been frustrated by not finding the peak restaurant, we took the recommendations of LD-ers from previous nights and went for a marguerita at Sadie’s, a long-time local favorite. Well, the drinks WERE good and large to boot, but the food was aimed more at mass quantity for your buck rather than innovation. We had hoped for something sophisticated, but this wasn’t it. We got two HUGE chicken burritos, finished half, and took home another meal. We left at about 7:45 and got to within a mile of our campground when we were stopped by a police barricade that had just been put up (we were the first to be stopped). That's Loni sitting on the scoot with her night vest reflecting. Seems that the traffic control scheme for the night presentations at the balloon park (which we were camped directly opposite) called for a shutdown of the only road we could take to access our lot, in order that all traffic exiting the Fiesta could use all lanes as outbound lanes. The nice sheriff (and, truly, he was a very nice guy) apologized profusely but said we’d have to wait at least an hour and a half before it could open. This, truly, was the capper for Loni’s birthday. No peak restaurant, mediocre food, tired from scooting all day in the wind, and now consigned to a curb for the duration. I knew I was going to have to make up for this! We spent the time talking to the officer and listening along with him to Vin Sculley broadcast the Dodgers-Phillies game (LA lost) on a radio he had in his trunk. Seems he’s a big-time Dodger fan from the days when they had their farm team, the Dukes, in ABQ. They’ve been elsewhere for the last decade of so, but have again re-signed with ABQ, only now the team is called (are you ready?) the Isotopes, “Topes” for short. See, there’s this nuclear history in the area and, oh well. So, not quite two hours later, we are given the honor of being the first through and we motored back to collapse in bed.
The night show is not a launch, but rather a light show where the inflated, but tethered balloons light off their burners and the balloons glow from inside. It’s
pretty neat, and we had seen it on a previous night. Everything is followed by a big fireworks show to cap off the evening.
At the launch grounds they have a quarter mile of tents selling souvenirs, godawful food (see previous comments on the Fair) and not much else. However, I will say that the giant cinnamon buns were A-OK, and I did avail myself of the free samples of mini Spamburgers. Shameless. They also had a chainsaw woodcarving contest which I have to say produced some pretty remarkable results. They were being auctioned off for charity and the one we watched fetched $6,000 in some spirited bidding. We settled for a couple of “chase crew” pins and a balloon spinner to hang off the rig when we’re parked.
With the rain forecast, and us sitting on dirt in the midst of thousands of RV’s, all of which had to exit through one portal, we opted to bag out early and left Saturday morning for Santa Fe.

Wilds of New Mexico

From Deming we motored east through Las Cruces, which has a beautiful setting beneath the Organ Mountains. Surprisingly green valley. One could be quite happy in a house with that view out your window. We didn't stay there, but headed NE to White Sands National Monument. What a place. With the plowed roads it looked like a surreal snow setting, stretching out forever. We got out and hiked about, but a little of this place goes a long way. Definitely worth the stop, but not much to tarry over after the initial impressions. We exited and passed Hoffman AFB, home of the German Air Force, which was to celebrate Oktoberfest in a few days. Yup, they train Germany's pilots here. Go figure. Stayed the night in Alamagordo and visited (i) the oldest zoo west of the Mississippi and (ii) the Museum of Space History. Both were good stops. The zoo was small and low key, but good exhibits of puma, coatamundi, ocelots, and ... African Crowned Storks. Say, what? The space museum was interesting, especially the rocket sled exhibit and the story about the poor guy who accidently decelerated at 81G's and lived to tell the tale. Yikes.

From Alamogordo we went up into the mountains through Cloudcroft and the Lincoln National Forest. Beautiful scenic drive. Lots of mountains and pines and a river. We bypassed the National Solar Observatory as they only had tours of the exterior, nothing of the scopes. We headed for Carlsbad and camped at Brantley Lake State Park, which was 6 miles off the main road. Nice, level sites, hot showers, and EW, so we decided to make this our headquarters. It was 20 miles into Carlsbad, and another 23 to the Caverns, so this would be a good test for getting around on the scoot. We're putting a lot of miles on it, and as I write this we're at nearly 600, and it's time for the mandatory first oil/filter change. We helmeted up and set out for the Caverns, which turned out to be a rather pleasant ride, semis and all. We're not bothered by the wind from oncoming trucks, but overtaking trucks (they all travel 70-75 here) do set up a backwash that buffets us.

Carlsbad Caverns was everything I hoped for. The entrance sits up in the mountains, and provides a 50 mile view to Mexico, Texas, etc. Everything is FLAT other than the Guadalupe Mountains, where the Caverns lie. There are two ways to enter the Caverns, by the mile-long switchback path (all paved and handrailed), or by the elevator. Either way you descend nearly 800 feet. The path is the only way to go, despite the dire sign warnings of "severe exertion," etc. I guess given the general state of health of America, the signs are warranted, but it was no big deal, and you see a lot of formations along the way, and it builds the anticipation for the "Big Room." Wow, is it spectacular. Huge. Theatrically lit (in the good sense), and lots of mites, tites, curtains, pools, columns, you name it. Of course, yours truly forgot the tripod we bought specifically for this, and I had to hand hold the camera, with typical blurry results. The circle tour of the Big Room is another mile plus, and it is "wows" all the way. Definitely on the must see list. You are required to take the elevator to exit, so we got back to the surface in a minute or so. We killed time for four hours (awful lunch, typical of federal concessionaires, and only points out what a good job the state parks do by comparison) to wait for the evening migration of the bats out of the cave mouth. At least 100,000, and up to 300,000 depending on the time of year. Eerie sight. They can't all come out at once, so they swarm out in groups, get their act together, and then head off for the nearest water source, which here is the Pecos river. They don't allow photography, as the electronic emissions from cameras screw up the bats' sonar. Everyone has to be still, so you can actually hear the faint flutter of thousands of bat wings as they circle out of the cave. I suppose it goes on for quite a while before they finish, but 15 minute was enough to give us the experience. Besides, we wanted to get on the road before it got pitch black. We did, but it got dark almost immediately. This was our first night ride, nearly 50 miles back to the camp. Hmmmm. No moon, 2 lane road in the middle of nowhere, no streetlights, semis coming at us, and us blasting along at 60 in order not to hold up the traffic behind us. Baptism by fire. We made it just fine until about 10 miles from camp when a sudden wind gust nearly toppled us. Where did THAT come from?

More for this post sometime later. Gotta pack up and get on the road.

Kartchner Caverns to Deming

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We headed south out of Tucson for Kartchner Caverns State Park. This is one of the few “wet” (still forming) caves in the world that is open for viewing. It was discovered back in the 70’s by two college students who entered via a sinkhole barely large enough to crawl through. They reached the “end” and faced a small hole the size of a fist. They enlarged it to coathanger size, and felt moist, guano-smelling air. They knew there was something larger beyond, but did not have time to explore. They didn’t return for another 7 years. What they found was an untouched and hitherto unknown cave system with a huge column (“Kubla Khan”), zillions of soda straw formations including the 2nd longest in the world, and many many beautiful formations. This was an excellent tour. The cave is highly protected, including what look like blast doors that seal off the interior from exterior air. We recommend this highly if you are down this way. They have an RV campground adjacent, so we stayed the night with about 6 other rigs. No one within 100 feet of us. Pitch black at night until the moon came up. The Milky Way, hurrah! It would appear that the old sci-fi movie “Them” (with the giant ants) wasn’t so far off. This place (and the rest of SW AZ) is home to the world’s largest grasshoppers, beautifully colored. Man, do they make a mess when they splat on your vehicle!

After Kartchner, we went to Tombstone, flying in the face of everyone who warned us about it being a tourist trap. Well, it is. But they do it with such a lack of cynicism that you can’t help but enjoy yourself. Plus, they have an ice cream parlor where I had the best vanilla malt since Swenson’s closed down 15 years ago. They even give you the metal mixing urn so you can enjoy the leftover. Yum. My taste buds still work well for malt and for coffee ice cream. No chocolate. Looks like that’s gone forever. Oh, for another savor of Loni’s niece Noelle’s flourless chocolate cake. Sigh. Anyway, we walked the town (all three blocks of it), saw the re-creation of the OK Corral shootout, which, as it happens, did not take place there but two buildings down in an alley. Hugh O’Brien is turning over in his grave. We got a souvenir newspaper which carried the coroner’s inquest witness statements about the shootout. It’s pretty obvious that the cowboys (3 dead) got railroaded. The Earps, and Doc Holliday (a pathological killer if ever there was one) fired the first shots, and two of the victims were unarmed, while a third threw his hands up shouting “Don’t shoot me!” Shot he was, and killed. A sad day for law and order, even if the cowboys were scumbags.

The next day we took the scooter off the rack and motored 23 miles south to Bisbee, an old mining boomtown, now an artists’ colony. We took the mine tour which was rather neat. You go in on the same mine trolly that took the miners in. Unfortunately, I not only had dead batteries in the camera, but the spares I brought along must have been used as well as they lasted only a few shots. Our guide had been a miner, spending 30 years below the surface. 30 minutes would have been long enough for me to make a career change. The old time miners had it unbelievably rough, working by candlelight, no dust protection (lung disease got most of them), no hearing protection, etc. etc. A shift was 10 hours and they got the magnificent sum of $3.50 a day.

In the afternoon we toured the galleries and fell in love with a couple of artists. Good thing we were traveling by scooter or we might have bought something. We were walking around with our helmets, so we never got a hard sell as they figured we wouldn’t buy. Great lunch at a small café where they baked their own 7 grain bread, made enormous sandwiches, and homemade soups. Thumbs up. I didn’t have room for the berry crumble they tempted me with. Took in the local mining museum, which is associated with the Smithsonian. Good stuff. Had a nice scoot ride back to Tombstone, except for the occasional bug splatter on my visor. We’re cruising comfortably at 55mph, with plenty of oomph left. The Vespa definitely was a good choice.

Our next destination was the Chiricahua National Monument, thanks to the AAA guidebook. I had never heard of the place, but it is a real gem. The place is full of hoodoos which are similar to the ones in Bryce, but of a different composition. A huge nearby volcano deposited white hot ash which, when it cooled, fused into a 2,000 foot thick layer of rock. Eons of erosion did the rest. There are spectacular balancing rocks, shaped rocks, columns, canyons, you name it. We took the scoot up 1500 feet to a trailhead and went on a 8 ½ mile hike to the best of the rock formations. We gained and lost about 2000 feet of elevation and were very tired puppies by the time we staggered out. This is all around 4500 to 6000 feet in altitude, so it wasn’t JUST age. I did find that the scoot likes to understeer, so we slowed a lot for the corners (which had loose gravel now and then, so going slowly was a good idea anyway). The campground is dry camping only, so we relied on the batteries and tanks and didn’t miss a beat. Even watched a DVD we got from Netflix. If anyone is a Ballykissangel fan, you’d like this series which is called Doc Martin. British humor. Love it.

CA to AZ: A Lot of Desert

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We've finally launched on our first post-BigC RV trip. Left L.A. on Thursday the 11th. Actually, we left twice. We got as far as Santa Monica when I remembered I had not disconnected the Camry's battery. Since we'll be gone for 7 weeks, and I'm too cheap to ruin a new battery, we U-turned and motored on back. we finally got underway for good at about 11:30. At least the traffic was light. First stop was Montclair for the Lazy Daze factory where we lightened the wallet for a few more wants, like insulated roof vent covers, another set of ramps, etc. Then it was Camping World in San Berdoo where I had hoped to get the generator's (the Onan in the coach) oil changed. They were booked up, so we'll put that off. This was something I tried to do myself before we left, but the Onan idiots use Torx screws to hold on a cover that hides the drain plug. Bought the right size at the store, but in a screwdriver mode, which is all they had. No joy, the damn things were frozen on and even using an assist from vice grips wouldn't do the trick. Sigh. It should be so easy, but U.S. manufacturers obstinately make things needlessly hard.

After Camping World we headed east on I-10 and promptly hit the Mother of all dust storms somewhere around Indio. Huge winds, no visibility, so we pulled off at a casino to wait it out. The stop sign at the casino was spinning completely around, like Megan's head in the The Exorcist, only faster. After 40 minutes, we could see blue skies, and the wind was down to 30mph, so we pushed on to the southern entrance of Joshua Tree N.P. The campground there (only $7.50 with our federal geezer card) is about 8 miles off the highway, and up in some mountains, so it was dead quiet the whole night. Dry camping, but they had spotless bathrooms, so we didn't have to use our tank. Not much to see there, but a good place to stop for the night. The moon was almost full and the desert at night is weird-neat. Tried to get a T.V. signal, and got 9 stations --- all of them Spanish. Which country are we in?

Next morning we literally rolled (in neutral) back down the road to the highway. Hey, saved us at least a half gallon! Settled down on the I-10 for the cruise to AZ at a liesurely, but economical (all things are relative) 58mph. Sparse traffic and the truckers were entertaining on the CB, at least the ones we could understand. I do believe some of them were using olde English from the sounds. Waited until we crossed the border to get gas, and saved about 35 cents per gallon. A nice fellow came over while we were fueling and suggested we might want to put our T.V. antenna down. Gulp. We had driven all the way from Joshua with it slicing through the air. (Seems to be working all right.) Guess everyone has to do that at least once. I'll start with the routine of hanging something on the steering wheel as a reminder.

We pressed on to Gila Bend where we stayed at Augie's Quail R.V. Park at the magnificent sum of $23 a night for full hookups. The power for the A/C was very welcome. This is a very well-maintained park and, at the price, is recommended. Uneventful night, save for the occasional train whistling in the distance. Off the next morning, we stopped just down the road to get the rig weighed now that we have the rack and the bike on the back. We tip the scales at 12,380 pounds, but the distribution is definitely skewed more to the back: 8900 rear and 3480 front. That's lighter in the front than before, so hanging those pounds that far behind the rear axle is unloading the front end a bit. Steering seems just fine, though, but I bled a few pounds off the fronts to adjust to the lighter weight.

We switched over to I-8 for the run into Tucson and passed a nasty looking rollover in the westbound lanes. Looked like a fatality for sure, and it had the freeway shut down in that direction. Made it to Tucson without incident and we are now ensconced at the Tra-Tel RV Park. It's not much to look at, and is a bit difficult to find (AAA's directions in the camp book are not quite accurate), but at $20 a night for full hookups we aren't complaining. The place is immaculately kept, from the grounds, to the bath/showers, to the wireless internet. We are happy campers. I spent the rest of Saturday watching football via OTA high-def TV. Our new set is a champ, and we pick up the signals without a problem with our wind-tested antenna. Watched Notre Dame handle Michigan, Oregon finally eke it out against Purdue, and USC (ugh) humiliate Ohio State. Stanford (mercifully not shown) blew it against TCU.

Sunday morning we went shopping at Loew's for a helmet lock and other junk, then to WalMart for a few items, then back to the rig with the Sunday paper. We can carry a remarkable amount of stuff on the scooter. In the afternoon, we took a 20 mile hop down to the Mission San Xavier Del Bac, which Loni had seen as a child on one of her parents' whirlwind driving vacations. It's pretty neat inside, with a lot of wooden figurines. The exterior is undergoing renovation/repainting, so there's scaffolding and nets over half of it. Well worth visiting.

Monday dawned with news of the Lehman debacle and ML selling itself. Yuck. Off with the T.V. It also dawned with wind gusts of 30mph or more, so we bagged the notion of doing the 40 miles or so loop of the AZ Desert Museum. We'll save that for hopefully calmer days tomorrow. Instead, we went down to the Pima Air Museum, and got wind blasted on that ride instead. The scoot actually is pretty stable in the wind, so we didn't have a lot of trouble, but it required extra attention. If you like air museums, Pima is a must-see, with all sorts of military craft and even JFK's prop-driven Air Force 1. Excellent lunch at the Thunderbird Grill, after which we took off for the AZ State Museum at the U of A campus in downtown Tucson. Fascinating silver/turquoise jewelry exhibition, baskets dating back over a thousand years, and an extensive history tour of the various Indian tribes that populated the Southwest. Again, a must-see for the historical background of this region.

Tuesday (today) was a little less windy, but still enough for a "challenging" scooter ride. We headed off into the hills to the West to the Arizona-Sonora Desert Museum. Nice mountain rode with plenty of twisties and very little traffic. The Vespa climbed like a champ, but cornering is definitely a low-speed operation. It tends to understeer which makes for exciting moments. The Museum is top-notch, very nicely organized, maintained, and staffed. Docents everywhere. We never knew there were so many different cacti. Truly an eye opener of a museum. They even have some desert wildlife including a big rug of a mountain lion, two aviaries (one for hummingbirds), an aquarium (yep, there's plenty of riparian and pond life in the desert), and a reptile zoo. We spent most of the day there, then motored through the Saguaro National Monument to see seas of big cacti. On the way home we stopped and did a grocery shop. We had bags everywhere on the scoot, and everything made it home just fine. Tomorrow we head for Karchner Caverns, Tombstone, and points East. Stay tuned.

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!