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.

June 13, 2007 TELLURIDE DETOUR

[CLICK ON PICS TO ENLARGE ] Bye to the misty heights and depths of BCOTG, and off to Mesa Verde, or so we thought. As we came down from the campground, we descend a long way along a road with absolutely glorious views of the great valley below and the snow-DRENCHED San Juan Mountains to the south. It looks like every tourist-promotion photo you've ever seen of Colorado. Some lucky devil has a cabin on the downslope from our road, with this incredible vista every day (when it's clear, of course). Once down, we make our way through Montrose and head south. There are two parallel routes that will get us to our destination of Mesa Verde: a more straight shot down 560, ending in Durango, or a slightly longer route using 62 and 145 to Cortez. MV lies between the two cities. Paul's Colorado guidebook noted that Telluride featured Bridal Veil Falls, the tallest in the state, so we decided to go that route. It turned out to be a good choice. As we climbed (once again) up towards Telluride the scenery became more lush and alpiney. Colorado really is beautiful in a totally different sense from Utah. The access spur road to Telluride (which is a dead-end box canyon) is two lanes, with construction, so the speed limit was 25. As we entered the city limits (which are pretty far out) the limit dropped to 15 (!) and it appeared they mean it. As we idled our way into the town proper, the scent of money came wafting through the pines. Supposedly, AH-nold and Oprah both have homes here. It takes that kind of money to buy in, these days, according to the realty windows we looked at. That carping aside, this town is a real jewel. There's one main street, that lines up arrow-straight with a view of the waterfall and mountains straight ahead. We kept on motoring through the town and came out on the other side where the road keeps going to the old mineworks at the base of the mountains. We positioned Albatross so we had a great view out the rear windows and had lunch. We were so taken by the beauty of the place, that we decided to see if we could crash the tiny city campground that was on this end of the main drag. It's over a small bridge and in amongst the aspens. The sign said they were full, but as it was 11:00 we figured we'd see if anyone had left. Sure enough, one guy was packing up and said he'd be out shortly, so we hightailed it back to the office and snagged his space for the night (the only one available, as it turned out) at the princely rate of $8.00(!), thanks to our having passed the local "senior" cutoff of 59. It's good to be old. Our site was level, and had a small brook bubbling away beside us and again had a great snow-capped peak view out the windows. The Falls called, so we broke out the bikes and took off along a very nifty bike/walking path that bordered the river as it came through the town. At least the real-estate tax dollars are being put to good public use. The trail was a parade of photo-ops, and we took our share. We biked to the end of the road (unless you have 4-wheel drive) where the switchbacks started to climb up to the falls. We chained the bikes and took off on foot. After an hour-and-a-half of switchbacks, we had gained about 1200 feet. Along the way we posed at the bottom of the falls, threw snowballs from an enduring bank beside the road, and gazed down on the town and everything else from the top of the falls. We continued back into the mountains a ways, following the stream that fed the falls, through a series of small falls and watercourses. Really nice, and we had the place to ourselves. Unbelievably perched on the precipice at the top of the falls is a former resort, now a private retreat. It's off-limits to the public, so we couldn't get right to the edge. We headed back down and enjoyed a cool soaking from the blowing mist at the base of the 350-foot falls, much like Bridalveil Falls in Yosemite Valley. Telluride sits at 8,745 feet, so we were dog-tired after our trek up and down the mountain. No cooking tonight! We found a barbecue place that came recommended in the guide, and it didn't disappoint. Huge honking portions that would have done a trencherman justice. We each ordered the combo plate and beer. Our eyes bugged when the mountain of food arrived, but we are diligent, industrious, pigs! We ate it all. The chef came out to help clear plates and he remarked that when we ordered he was chuckling as he didn't think we knew what we were ordering. He was impressed that we took no prisoners. I was impressed that we could stand up, much less walk out of the place. We staggered around town to walk it off, peering in realty windows and gasping at the prices, and eyeing the swells who were dining in rooms with white tablecloths. They . . . urp . . . don't know what they missed. We ended up in front of the local picture show which was just about to screen Julie Christie in "Away From Her." In we went, and stepped back in time, both with the decor but also with the fact that the manager comes down in front and reads coming attractions and smooshes with the audience. The movie was well done, but a downer, with terrific acting by Christie. We walked back to the park along the dead-silent street, which lasted until we got to our site. Two guys at a nearby site were blasting 60's & 70's music from giant speakers set up in the back of their station wagon. I assumed my most obsequious demeanor and reminded them of the post-10:00 quiet rules. Amazingly, they slurred vague apologies and actually turned everything off. Guess they were chemically more mellow than I thought. Very nice zzzzz the rest of the night in the cool mountain air despite the cat, who apparently is reinvigorated by the same.

JUNE 10-12 Rocky Mountain High & Low

SUNDAY [Click on pics to enlarge] While the bath facilities in Albatross are quite adequate, there's nothing like luxuriating in all the hot water you want, so we used Portal's very nice facilities for a who-knows-when-we'll-get-the-chance-next showers. Did our usual close-it-up (we're such old hands now that we've been on the road a couple of weeks), dumped the tanks (see, it doesn't even faze us anymore), and took off for Colorado, following the river for about 30 miles. The scenery steadily deteriorated, although Loni liked some of the mountains. We hit a high point on I-70 and decided to give Sprint a chance to redeem itself. Voila! Three bars. We called everyone to let them know we still live, and then it faded as we went down the hill. We entered the Grand Valley (think, Grand Junction) and found the turnoff for the Colorado National Monument. This is a spectacular upthrust that simply goes nearly straight up out of the valley floor for about 2,000 feet. The climb up from the floor was another gas sucker, low gears and switchbacks, with one section where the right lane had simply fallen away leaving only the oncoming lane hugging the wall. It looked like they're in the process of repairing it, but this being a Sunday there are no workers about. Nice. With our 11,000 pounds inching over the fractured pavement, we could pitch over and they wouldn't notice until tomorrow. This apparently is not a high-traffic monument, as the campground has 80 spaces and only 2 are taken, according to the peg board at the entrance. We cruised around all the loops in numerical order and found one nearly level space and with a view --- # 79, naturally. This monument is a giant mesa that overlooks the entire valley, from Fruita to Grand Junction, which is spread out below us. We feel like birds hovering above everything on a rocky thermal. We mosied around to various overlooks, had dinner, and went out again for the sunset light. Very nice. After dark, the valley was a maze of tiny lights, absolutely silent from this distance. Jupiter and Venus are super-strong tonight as there is no moon. Back for a little local tv, and crash.

MONDAY There's a 20 mile drive around the rim of the monument, with views at every curve. We wanted an early start so we would get good morning light and color on the cliffs, but we settled for a more leisurely breakfast and so-so light. Once underway, we're enjoying the scenery when we encounter the early-bird road crews already hard at work re-surfacing and re-underpinning (yes, please!) the roadway. The trip down the mesa is a real corkscrew ride with a handful of gulp-factor curves. I'm again glad that Albatross is only 23.5' long, but it's still a w-i-d-e sucker. We're overtaken and passed by two women --- who just have ridden their bikes UP well before dawn --- are enjoying gravity as they scream down the hill through the curves. At the bottom, we wandered through town and gassed up at a place that was "only" $3.15 a gallon. After filling, I noticed that it was part ethanol. Hope that's not a problem. Found another place to top off the propane, re-groceried in the town of Delta, then off to Montrose and the Black Canyon of the Gunnison. This was recommended by Paul as he had toured it on his way out of Colorado. We'd never heard of it before, but it would turn out to be one of the highlights of the trip. This is a "look-down" park as opposed to a place like Zion, which is a look-up at the cliffs place. But to look down, you first must climb, and we did. Up to 8,340 feet for the campground. That'll help the gas mileage. I can't wait until we tour Kansas. The campground was again only sparsely populated, so we found a very easy pull-over spot which didn't even require leveling. Yes! Guess this is a pull-through for bigger rigs, but as most of the others are small and not-so-level, and there's no one here, why not? Dirty looks, that's why not. We had no more than gotten settled in (meaning we took the bikes off the rack for a spin around camp) than several long rigs and trailers drove by, giving us the evil eye for occupying such a primo spot. Tough. Get here earlier. We have electricity, but no water, and with this altitude we have a selection of tv channels. After cruising around the rather homely camp, we took off on foot for the visitor center on a rim trail. Yee gods! This is one steep and dramatic canyon. No sandstone, this is all dark metamorphic rock that was sliced down over the last 2 million years or so by the Gunnison River. VERY impressive sheer walls, tight canyon, with the river about 1800 feet down there. The sky is getting dark and it looks like a good chance of thunderstorms either tonight or tomorrow. Fine by us! It was freezing rain on our tent in Yosemite that convinced us that RVing was our future. Bring it on. Back to the rig. Hmmm, I might have been a bit hasty with the tv opportunities: Oprah is on three of the five stations. Off, and out with the books. A little early Arthur C. Clarke, "The City and The Stars." I must have read it as a teenager, but I've totally forgotten it. Loni's making catfish and brown rice for dinner. This is a beer night, no wine. All is well. We read until the nodding becomes regular, and off to bed. Hark? That sound? It's rain falling on the roof. Sounds like it's settling in for the night. It's a little louder on the escape hatch cover over my bed, but all is good. Maybe it'll wash some of the Kodachrome dust off of things. Wishful thinking.

TUESDAY We sleep in as it is alternately rainy and misty and foggy. We peer out our one-way windows at some tent-campers across the way and silently gloat. Yes, we're bad. Cereal, eggs-on-bagels, and fresh coffee. We bagged the idea of doing the rim road on our bikes. We had encountered a ranger yesterday at the visitor center and she warned that there were virtually no flat spots on the entire road and that even she found it difficult to bike. No martyrs, we, so we'll tour in the rig. We unplug the electric, put out our "site occupied" sign to deter the trailer folks from hijacking the spot, and motor off. There are about 9 or 10 overlook stopping points along the rim road, with short trails from the road out to a point for viewing down into the canyon. Each has a different perspective, and all of them are spectacular. We didn't miss a single one, and glad of it. As we look down at the tortuous river twisting way far below, I have fleeting thoughts of hiking along the river with the boyos and looking UP at all this scenery. A more sober perusal through the binocs convinces me that it would be a tough 5-day slog and scramble along the riverbank, cliffsides, boulders, etc., with water running at Class V+ right next to you, with the need to cross over frequently. Nah, not going to happen. We got to the end of the road, and at 8,340 feet again, we were still in the mist clouds. But we do get a hint of cell service, so we at least check messages, roll over a CD, and get a couple of calls made. Every once in a while the clouds lift and I can see the town of Olathe way down the gorge at the end of the canyon. That must be the source of our signal. Sprint sucks just a little less. Back to our camp spot, free of hijackers, and we read up a bit on our next destination (so we thought) of Mesa Verde. For a while we're entertained by a small yellow finch-type bird (no Auduboner me) which is fiercely, and repeatedly, attacking its image in our dark mirror-like side window. This also drives the cat wild and she tries to catch it by smashing against the glass from the inside. The bird can't see us (or the cat) so it keeps this up . . . for . . . hours. Even the cat falls over and goes to sleep. Fade to dinner, some non-Oprah tv, and zzzzz.

July 6-9: MOAB, CANYONLANDS, ARCHES NP's

WEDNESDAY [click on pics to enlarge] Early up to get to Moab. Wind is blowing ferociously, as it did all night. Downed limbs litter the campground, but none hit us (especially the solar panel) during the night. Can't dump since the hose at the station is messed up, so we take off. At the campground entrance/exit we see a crew working to cut away a huge tree that split in half and just missed the host's trailer. We enjoyed the tailwind on I-70 up to the turnoff on state 19, but from then on it was a steady 30mph 90 degree crosswind on the 2-lane road south to Moab, with gusts to 40 or so. The rig actually tracked pretty well, but my hands were riveted to the steering wheel. At a high point on I-70 we got one-bar service, so picked up a message from Paul saying that he was going to be in Moab at the La Quinta. Saw our first arches off in the distance to the East as we approached Moab, which lies in a valley, making the entry rather scenic. Our AAA guide said Portal RV Resort (that's our spot in the picture above) had the best rates, so we pulled in there. It's just biking distance north of Moab's downtown, and not a particularly pretty campground (nice mountain views, though), but it suited us. We enjoyed e/w/c hookups, and it seemed almost decadent to have cable tv. $27.50 a night, which seems a little rich, but it was the least expensive place in the area. The local KOA wants $50+, and the campgrounds at the parks were full. We had clean showers and very friendly hosts, so thumbs up for Portal. Fired up the cell phone, now that we are in a "real" city (6,000?), and . . . . nada. Zilch. No signal at all. As we were to discover later, Verizon and AT&T come in just fine, but Sprint hasn't gotten around to here yet. Ironically, Sprint is the only one we can get at home, which is why we went with them. This trip has shown that they are very weak in Utah. Drove over to La Quinta to scare up Paul and, after we all did some provisioning, we took off in his car to tour Arches NP. That's "Balancing Rock," naturally; me standing under the largest of the Windows formations.

Amazing how many arch formations are concentrated in this area. Arches is mostly a drive-and-look park, with only a few hikes. We did take the one at the Windows area, which sports 5 or 6 arches and is well worth the brief trek. As we continued on into the park, we got splattered with a brief shower, which I figured would be just enough to mudspot the dust on Albatross if it was raining over there as well. [later: yup, Albatross is now a speckled tern] After finishing with Arches, we headed west a bit and headed for Canyonlands NP. Actually, we ended up at the Dead Horse Point state park just at the entrance. It had been billed as spectacular and it lived up to the press. A mini-grand canyon with a perfect view of the winding Colorado about 2,000 feet below. The wind had come back up, so standing on the edges elevated the heartrate more than usual. We had a hard time holding still enough to snap pictures. Paul and I have retreated to a discrete distance from the ledge. Loni appears to be standing in front of some Disney diaorama, but that's real life, folks. Paul dropped us at the RV and we changed clothes to join Paul at the Moab Brewery for dinner. this is a don't-miss place, with excellent beer (two pitchers and we were very happy) and generous portions of great food. The Jack Daniels sauce on the mammoth burgers was outstanding. We definitely were El Bloato afterwards. Major zzz's tonight.

THURSDAY Paul had booked a full-day Jeep-and-Riverboat trip today, so we're taking a down day to get the rig serviced at the local Ford dealer. We have about 1,200 miles on the clock, and I want to dump the oil and filter to get out the metal bits that flake off in a new engine, and we're overdue for a re-torquing of the lugnuts all around. They got us right in, took a couple of hours, and billed us the princely sum of $40! At a Ford dealer! That's easily an $80 tab back in LA. High marks for Utah! Paul's coming for dinner tonight, so back to the campground to prep. Pan-grilled salmon with homemade apple chutney. YUM. Paul brought a NZ Sauvignon Blanc and a Central Coast Viognier-Chardonnay combo from Qupe. Both were excellent and both were polished off. We take no prisoners. Paul's off tomorrow for points south, so we'll part ways, but he left us his Colorado materials on the Black Canyon of the Gunnison, which we've never heard of. Safe travels, bro, and Leges.

FRIDAY Yesterday, we booked an all day raft trip with Tag-a-Long Tours, one of about a dozen places offering variants of the same trips. Paul used them yesterday on his tours. We pedaled on over to their place at 8:00 and waited while our group formed up. We ended up a french couple, two families of 4, and us. We boarded an entirely disreputable Bluebird schoolbus that was on its third incarnation and had that gritty desert ambiance, towing a huge trailer with three inflatables stacked on it. They travel about twenty miles upriver to a put-in point, where we launched along with other tours from the competition. The Colorado here is fairly wide and slow moving. The trip was rated as rapids I to III, but frankly that seemed like a hype for New York tourists, of which we had some. It was more like 0 to I. Loni was happy nonetheless asthis was her first raft trip. We enjoyed great views as we lazed along. The guides pointed out rock formations that had been used in Jeep and Marine (the climber who morphs into a marine) commercials, and the ranch where the Johns Wayne and Ford shot several movies. The river here is brown as it carries ten times the silt as does the Mississippi, despite much less water volume. Don't drink the water! I began to regret not having a sediment filter on the rig's city water intake. Mental note to buy one. After braving the ripples, and putting in for lunch, we finished about 3:30 and got bussed back to the store. We decided that after a day in the sun there'd be no cooking tonight, so back to the park for showers and a change, and off to Miguel's Baja Grill. If this place was in LA, I'd be a regular. They don't just offer the usual Mexican choices of chicken, beef, and pork, but also lamb for any dish! Loni got the lamb enchiladas and I got the M.O.A.B. -- not the City, but the Mother Of All Burritos. We halved our dinners and split them. The MOAB comes with a choice of sauces. CHOOSE THE MOLE! I happen to like Oaxacan food because of the mole sauces, and we have some topnotch places in LA. But this dark mole was the best of its kind I've ever had. Smoky, chocolatey, and tangy. The margueritas are just so-so, but adequate. The owner came out after the waitress told him we were delerious with lip-smacking and we heaped some praise.Very nice folks. DO make this a stop if you are in Moab. After dinner we motored over to the local triplex for a showing of Pirates III. Yee-gods what dreck. An unfathomable mess. If this had been the first one, the franchise would have been stillborn. The highlight of the evening was our first drive at night in the rig, back to the camp. No sweat.

SATURDAY Rodeo Day! Slept in until 8:00, then watched the three or four endings of the Da Vinci Code on Cinemax while eating breakfast. You gotta take advantage of the amenities when you have em. This is some cable system. Gets not only Cinemax, but HBO, Starz, and Showtime! Biked into town to watch the rodeo parade. This truly is a small town; the parade was over in 15 minutes, but we loved it. Went over to the visitor center and loaded up on brochures, swung by the library for another abortive attempt to post on their free computers, bought some used books for the Albatross Library, and back to the rig for lunch. 91 degrees in the coach. Thank you, Dometic. The Belmont is coming up on the cable . . . and coming up . . . and coming up . . . zzzzzzzzz. Hey, who won? Early dinner of omelets and we then hoof it a mile to the free shuttle pickup at the nearest motel. The rodeo center is at the far end of the other side of town, way too far to bike, especially at night. Unfortunately, being at the end of this side of town, we stop at every motel, and wait at each for at least ten minutes. It takes will over an hour to travel the six miles or so. The arena is an early-dust-bowl indoor job, which seats several thousand. We skooch in, as everybody for many miles around has shown up for this annual event. Lots of cowboy hats, boots, and glad-handing going on. The honorary grand poobah of the rodeo (translation: the major donor) was paraded around the ring in the back of an old convertible. Now, you just have to see the sight of a 55 year-old Chinese transplant from Taiwan in full Gene-Autry regalia waiving his ten-gallon Stetson in a Utah rodeo ring to know you've crossed over into the twilight zone. Apparently he immigrated here 30 years ago and bought a local motel which he's managed ever since. That's him waiving from the car in the parade picture above. Yahooo, ah so! The rodeo itself was fun, but not great. I think this definitely is the B or C circuit, for both the riders and the animals. The first bronc froze in the stall with its rear end high on one wall and its body plastered to the back. Never came out. This happened several times over the evening. Only 2 of 12 bronc riders lasted the required 8 seconds, and none of the bull riders did. I hope they split the prize money. Anyway, a good time was had by all, including your smirking reporter.