San Francisco

February 26, 2009

 

Tonight I’m in Marin County 5 miles from George Lucas’ famous ‘Ranch.’  I drove up to San Francisco this morning along Hwy 101 in driving rain.  Heading back out to the coast just didn’t seem worth it in those conditions and I needed to get somewhere north of San Fran to find affordable camping.  That meant nearly 200 miles of driving today.  The traffic on 101 grew steadily heavier though the number of lanes remained steady at 4—one for multi-passenger cars.  I took the second lane from the right to avoid continually merging with on and off traffic and in the heavy traffic the speed slowed enough to accommodate me.  I arrived in San Fran at 11:00 AM.  The 15 mile drive along city streets in Downtown on the approach to the Golden Gate was something else.  I really hadn’t anticipated running out of Freeway before I crossed.  I would not push a baby carriage against a red light in front of a moving 5-ton vehicle but a local did just that.  She trusts my brakes more than I do. 

 

After that transit of the city crossing the bridge seemed anti-climactic.  The sky was clear by this point but the view even from my RV’s height was limited as it is on most bridges.  Traffic was not heavy and I got a break in that there is a toll only for south-bound traffic.  Highway 1 north of the Gate is another of those narrow, winding, hill and dale passages filled with switchbacks, flooded roadways, and washouts.  Again I was fortunate in finding little traffic.  The views of the coastline were magnificent but as usual there were no pullouts in the best locations to allow photography.  The side-hills were filled with some sort of flowering shrub having whispy leaves that I could’t identify. 

 

What is it with these campgrounds.  The privately-owned campground I’m staying at tonight demanded cash payment.  Which century are they living in?  I’ve learned to expect it of State Parks but what next?  At least their Internet works.  I’m in Olema, a small enclave that remains in the middle of Point Reyes National Seashore.  So far I have yet to explore the park, only take a walk along the narrow main highway to see large signs in front of the few businesses that read open despite the locked doors under them.  Next door is a typical Catholic Church with large white statue of Mary and a grotto with flickering candles and a painting of the Virgin and a small statue of Christ.  The daffodils are in bloom here and the Irises ready to shoot blossoms.  The flowering almond is in bloom.  Seems strange in February. 

 

Next morning I awoke early to the sounds of a Great Horned Owl calling in the distance. 

Salinas

Not all travel experience is sweetness and light.  Even the best of meals eaten out can be spoiled by bad service.  Twice recently I had to remind servers that bread and condiments came with the meal I'd ordered.  Rolls should arrive with the soup and the meal—not after one has finished it.  All waiters seem to be schooled in the art of flogging over-priced alcoholic beverages though.  The practice of requiring motorists to key in their zip code when they purchase gas with a credit card makes it problematic for a Canadian to fill up at a gas station.  This is particularly difficult when they insist that one fully pay for the fuel up front.  How does one estimate the dollar value of fuel when the price is ever fluctuating and one has a wonky gas gauge?  Rude gas station attendants don't help matters much.  And in my vehicle gassing up begins with switching my propane fridge to battery power.  Gasoline at $3.10 a gallon doesn't improve one's mood much but it's better than running out. 

 

In Monterey I drove through Fisherman's Wharf and Cannery Row while I thought of John Steinbeck.  Finding no place to park I kept driving and after reading Monterey's crime statistics not leaving my vehicle unattended may have been a wise move.  After fighting city traffic I was thankful to gain the relative calm of two-lane farming community roads in the Salinas Valley. 

 

I pick campgrounds by consulting the Woodall's Guidebook I installed on my computer and their location based on MS Streets and Trips.  I then attempt to find them with the help of my GPS.  State and National Parks that provide the address of their head office up to 100 miles distant can make finding them difficult and local names for streets that appear on no map and highways that lack street addresses add to the challenge.  Casa de Fruta near Hollister, however, is hard to miss.  A dynasty built up over 100 years this is a city state unto itself.  It boasts Casa de Everything.  Gas Stations, the original Orchards, Motels, 300 site RV Park, Winery, Mini-Railway and Carousel, Fruit Market with grapes displayed in the box of an antique Chevy, Sweet Shop, panning ore, Restaurant, grocery store, even Casa de Washroom.  The whole is 'decorated' and fenced in by a centuries' worth of cast-off farm implements and trucks.  Aside from cows there are buffalo, deer, and a peacock who brayed for his harem of pea hens at 4:30 AM and roosted for a time on my picnic table.  The girls were up a tree for the night. 

 

Thursday Morning I began the drive up to San Francisco in driving rain.  It seemed pointless to head back out to the coast at this point.  Eleven AM seems to be good timing to approach a major American City and traffic though heavy moved at a reasonable speed.  Running out of freeway and ending up on busy downtown city streets was not an eventuality I'd anticipated.  I would not push a baby carriage in front of a 5-ton moving vehicle against a red light but a San Francisco 'Mother' did just that.  After 15 miles of traffic lights and one request from my GPS to go the wrong way on a one-way-street and a precipitous climb up one of San Fran's famous hills complete with a cliffhanger red light I was thankful to reach the approach to the Golden Gate.  The air was clear and the sky filled with billowy clouds as I began my crossing.  Northbound passage is toll-free so I found.  As with most bridges one has to walk them to really enjoy the view. 

 

At the north side I chose to keep going.  Highway one leads up the coast along another narrow, winding, hilly stretch of highway.  Marked by washouts, flooded patches, and land slides this is not a road for the faint of heart and its sharp hairpin curves require close attention, slow speeds, short vehicles, and a busy steering wheel.  Once the coast is reached the view is fantastic and the highway follows the view.  After leaving Golden Gate Park one enters the domain of Point Reyes National Seashore.  Camping is provided by a local State Park and a few private outfits.  The small hamlet of Olema remains along the highway in the park and there my campground demanded cash for my site.  They don't seem to understand credit cards and the Twenty-First Century.  I still don't understand why, with pot holes one could get lost in they feel the need for speed bumps.  The buildings are ringed with sandbags in an attempt to prevent flooding.  Their power works however and their Wi-Fi is high-speed. 

 

Daffodils are in bloom here and irises shooting.  The Flowering Almond is also in full-flower as were wild purple shrubs along the highway I couldn't identify.  The sight of a cyclamen blooming in an outdoor garden reminded me I am not in Canada.  Overhead the distinct call of a red-tailed hawk sounded and at dawn Friday morning the answering calls of two Great-Horned Owls.  A walk along the highway before dark revealed large signs proclaiming the local businesses to be open despite obviously locked doors.  Five miles distant is George Lucas' Marin County Ranch, the home of Industrial Light and Magic. 

Big Sur

No, I don't have an explanation for this name. 

 

Even after 5 days I still encountered nearly 15 miles of fog enshrouded coastline but it seemed to be a localized phenomena.  Everything written about the majesty of Big Sur is justified once you see it.  The Los Padres National Forest was burned over last December but the coastline has regreened nicely.  New commercial development along Highway 1 has been frozen and nothing obscures the views of endless coastline.  This also serves to make the few private properties valuable commodities witness a shoreline property for sale by Sotheby's.  An eighteenth century lighthouse located on a hummock of land at the coast stands out as a unique sentinel as does the beautiful Bixby Bridge.  No bridge along this highway is younger than fifty years meaning all are past their best before dates. 

 

Camping at Kirk Creek Campground with no facilities beyond the booming surf 100 ft below and stars above obscured by no artificial light is bucolic indeed.  A set of park benches serve as a perfect spot to watch the ocean sunset and later Venus shining a path across the water.  The only sour note was the experience of meeting someone in a rig too long for this highway driving on my side of the road.  Luckily I'd seen him across the canyon and was ready to pull out.  Discovering that gasoline in the park was $3.10 a gallon was a sobering thought as well. 

San Luis Obispo County

February 18, 2009

 

San Luis Obispo—Saint Louis, the Bishop

 

On Tuesday morning I drove up the coast to the totally forgettable Leo Carillo State Park.  The return of rain made me decide the walk under the highway to the beach wasn't worth the effort.  A park with no hook-ups even the promised Wi-Fi was shut down with the camp store.  The place was quiet save for the couple who snuck in under cover of darkness and left before dawn the next day and the rude, ugly looking cuss who walked right up to my smoked glass windows and attempted to peer in on me.  I'd have loved to have had my panic button in hand. 

 

On Wednesday I continued my drive up the coastline stopping in Lompoc to get funds at the local Bank of America.  The route north skirted Vandenberg Air Force Base and led through crenulated rock faces turned on their sides by seismic forces.  I stopped at a rest are in a canyon for lunch.  California Welcome and Tourist Centres continue to be impossible to find unless one knows exactly where they are located and in that case one probably doesn't need one.  That in Santa Barbara near the Harbour which had a kiosk charging for parking took the cake.  I don't believe California wants to welcome tourists. 

 

The most striking feature of the hillside community of Morro Bay is the 576-ft sentinel rock offshore.  Or it would be had the Army Core of engineers not built a paved roadway right up to a peregrine falcon sanctuary.  The sandbar that is backed up behind it guards a substantial harbour which supports a thriving fishing port and fresh seafood restaurants.  Unfortunately the triple towers of the local power generating station loom over the downtown area as well.  Why there's a four-way stop at the town's busiest intersection or why two sections of The Embarcardero are divided by a sandy creek bed are matters for local politicians.  Both must be in sections of town they don't have to drive.  That break in the road forces anyone staying at Morro Dunes Park to make a mile-long detour to access a major tourist area that is otherwise a short stroll away.  On the plus side being on a dead-end street makes the campground quiet and walking to the beach across the road safe.  Everywhere in the park the sound of booming surf is evident.  Two lads riding up and down the beach strip on 3-wheelers tugged by paragliding chutes seemed to be having a whale of a time. 

 

At night frogs called from every puddle and the breaking waves shown white by starlight.  The sand dunes are covered by blooming sedums and the gulls endlessly patrol the air while shorebirds investigate the water's edge.  This seemed an idyllic place to rest up and wait out the rains. 

What Can I Say

Feb 14, 2009

 

I may pride myself on having the ability to live within my means; John Paul Getty's means had no limits.  Wanting travertine marble to clad his Museum he bought 5 Italian Quarries and hired the men to carve the blocks with which the Centre is built.  Even if you have no interest in art, architecture or gardening a visit to the Getty is worth it simply for the view.  Today was another in which I made no attempt at photography—some things just have to be seen.  The views of the Pacific, Los Angeles, and the Pacific coastline are truly panoramic.  If it cost a billion dollars to build the Getty Centre there are single art works inside it that are worth 8 figures.  The gardens outside are a living work of art.  The mile long automated tramway that takes one up to the heights is a engineering marvel all by itself. 

 

My day began with the thunder of planes taking off from LAX.  Kind of hard for even the Pacific Ocean to compete with that.  Upon leaving I found my way to Venice Beach but when I discovered the beach parking kiosk I decided it wasn't worth the cost.  I've seem more than a few beaches and I doubted any self-respecting bodybuilder was out at 8:00 AM at 44º F.  After a few miles of commercial strip that offered no ocean views I took the expressways to drive up to the Getty.  After the Getty I drove up to Malibu and discovered that my chosen Park gave me an eagle's eye view of Dan Blocker Beach within sight and sound but not the spray of the surf. 

 

Sunday morning I drove up to see another local icon in Simi Valley—The Ronald Regan Presidential Library.  Not sure what a copy of the Magna Carta stored at Fort Knox for safe-keeping during World War II has to do with Reagan but there it is.  The Library truly is a reflection of the man himself.  There he is in his high school football uniform, pictured in his riding chaps, his saddles on display, his B-movie career though I didn't notice Bonzo.  I gagged at a nearly life-sized Buddy-Buddy pic of he and Mulroney on the way to see Air Force One.  Compared to a 747 a 707 looks tiny.  One of its Pratt and Whitney Engines is on display along with the official motorcaide car, police escort vehicle, and two motorcycle outriders.  The 707 cockpit looks cramped for a crew of four—the spare crew rear-ward would have been much more comfortable.  The fax machine meets one on the way in.  The Presidential suite and that of the First Lady come next.  Two cryptographs and the 'football' are on the other side of the plane.  A conference room for guests is followed by the spare crew quarters, the secret service and strategically behind them the press.  One washroom forward and two back.  The IBM Selectric typewriter strikes an anachronistic note.  The trademark jelly beans are not omitted.  The plane sits on pedestals on its landing gear—tires rated at 256 mph. 

 

Along with all the kitsch inside are a mock-up of the oval office and signs of bragging rights as a diplomat.  Outside in a quiet corner overlooking the valley is Reagan's final resting place and nearby a piece of the Berlin Wall, a ¾ sized replica of the White House Rose Garden and an F-14 Tomkat.  A less cloudy, hazy day would have improved the view of Simi Valley. 

 

For a working-class contrasting view I put in a call to the friend of a friend from the Reagan security desk—the one pay phone was out of order.  The modest home on a quiet street had a substantial steel screen door and a decent backyard with 'victory garden' and fruit-laden orange tree.  Inside a natural gas stove and laundry room in the garage—a thing that is possible where there are never freezing temperatures.  Just how many Americans are saddled with a mortgage whose value is greater than that of their home I'd hate to contemplate.  The ride back through Malibu Canyon's twisting narrow lanes in the dark made me thankful that traffic was light and the rain held off. 

 

When I awoke to driving rain the next day and further learned of all the roads that were closed staying put seemed the prudent thing to do.  Rather than catch up on my blogging I set to work at installing software on my computer.

Sleepless in La County

Feb 14, 2009

Why there would be planes taking off from LA Airport at 1:00 AM I couldn't begin to guess but I can say that I did not appreciate the wakeup call. Not much of a Valentines Present somehow.

While I'm in a sour mood I'll also comment that reading the Coast News out of Encinitas I encountered a column not calculated to attract tourists—an illustrated ten most wanted list. I can assure you this was not a beauty contest.

Maybe a shot of Scotch will take my mind off my distemper.

Surfing USA.doc

After thanking the gals at the Visitors Centre for my warm welcome to Joshua Tree and sharing some pictures I set out south.  The day was sunny and I stopped to photograph Teddy Bear Cholla and Ocotillas.  The route south wound through desert terrain and canyons.  My GPS led me along the East side of the Salton Sea and therefore I bypassed the state parks my hosts at Joshua Tree had so highly recommended which were located on the other side.  I did pass through extensive vineyards, fields of cabbage which was being actively harvested and groves of lemon and orange.  The park I hoped to visit that night proved to be located at 4000 ft in a snow zone and after negotiating winding roads clinging to the sides of cliff faces I was glad to take the switchbacks that led be back to lower elevations.  When I found Interstate 8 I was glad to head west to San Diego.  After getting gas at $2.21 a gallon and a taco salad at Carl Jr I found my way to the beach-front park of San Elijo. 

 

Having paid my fee of $20.00 for a non-beach-front space and $9.00 for hookups I settled in discovering my bedroom backed onto 2 four-lane highways separated by a double commuter rail line with level crossings, clanging bells and blowing train horns.  The beach was accessed by a set of five stairways that led down a 5 storey cliff to the sea where surfers in wetsuits paddled their surfboards among the waves.  I was fatigued after a 200 mile drive but sleep was a restless affair. 

 

The next day I drove north to Dana Point after stopping in Oceanside at the Welcome Centre to see what I could glean.  The route ahead passed through 30 miles of Camp Pendleton.  Doheny State Beach was severely regimented and offered no hookups but I was successful in finding a Wi-Fi connection to update my mail.  At this beach the front tier had direct access to the beach over a small sand dune and the drop-off was immediate offering surfers no break to catch a wave.  Behind me was only one 4-lane highway and a raised double rail line with no level crossings.  After a decent night's sleep I spent the morning talking with my neighbours. 

 

On Thursday I drove through Orange County and Newport Beach the erstwhile setting for the TV Series the OC.  Aside from some spectacular ocean views early on the remaining drive offered only fenced in gated communities, flowering embankments, no-stopping signs, parking meters and traffic lights.  When I'd had enough I programmed my GPS and took to the freeways to find Deckweiler Beach in LA County.  Located directly under the LAX Flyway the RV Park is on a paved surface with markings to delineate campsites.  On one side is an embankment leading up to the highway and on the other a thirty-foot sand dune hides the oil-drilling platforms off-shore.  When a family of five noisy brats and two barking dogs moved in next door there went the neighbourhood—and I thought things couldn't get worse.  I thought of promising to play my bagpipes at dawn if one urchin didn't stop banging around with his skateboard.  Everything notwithstanding I still managed a good night's sleep. 

 

On Friday the Thirteenth I was lucky enough to get re-assigned when I asked to stay a second night.  I gladly moved.  After breakfasting on bacon, potato pancakes, apple sauce and coffee I got down my bicycle and set off on a 24 mile ride.  Can't say as I saw anything remarkable but I got some good exercise.  Made it home just before the rains came down.  That prediction was the reason for my decision to layover in the first place.  So far my impression of California mirrors that of Florida.  The Pacific is between 58 and 60, about what I'd expect at Crescent Beach in Lunenburg County in Summer.  Now that I've caught up with my typing I'll try for an afternoon nap if I can dose off between takeoffs. 

California Here I Come

When I meet the park ranger who leads the geological hike today in Joshua Tree National Park at 3800 ft I’m going to tell him that he needed have made it snow to make a Canadian feel welcome.  Hopefully he/she has a sense of humour.  From the looks of it I and the kit foxes are going to have the 15-site campground where I’m parked—there are no hook-ups—to ourselves tonight—Monday, February 9.

 

Yes I’ve made it to Southern California but it’s been raining and windy since I got here.  I posted my last entries on Groundhog Day in Salt Lake City KOA where I took a lay-over day in part to rest up and also as a result of the fact that Utah Drivers were, as the Kampground Staffer put it, playing bumper cars on the highway.  Every route out of town was jammed.  Last Tuesday I headed south 200 miles to Beaver, Utah.  The highway led through valleys between mountain ranges and the trip was uneventful.  Just as Brigham Young’s home, the Beehive is emblematic of industry the same symbolism is at work in naming this town after Canada’s national symbol—Mormons are to be busy as beavers.  Only 8 of the Kampground’s sites were open for the winter and the plumbing was dodgy. 

 

After a night of temperatures that plunged to the mid-teens I drove down to Zion a mere 100 miles distant.  Again the Mormon influence as the man who named the place considered it Sanctuary as in a verse he read in his Bible.  Sanctuary it was as the temperature hit 80º F that day and remained warm overnight.  It’s hard not to be over-awed by the sight of 5000 ft red cliffs hemming in canyons as narrow as 20 ft.  A place like this creates its own climate and in the areas where the sun rarely if ever reaches there was definitely snow and ice.  After taking the scenic drive I got out my bicycle and tried out the biking trail.  I really didn’t know how to photograph such grand landscapes.  The gentleman I saw with a 10X8 large format camera might have had some ideas however.  Although the park is a true wonder the ten miles of commercial ventures that begin just outside its gates are something else. 

 

Thursday morning I struck out south along I-15.  There are only 29 miles of I-15 in Arizona and all of them are downhill at a 5 to 6º grade spiralling ever downward.  Coming out of the mountains at last one enters the Mojave Desert.  At this point the road heads straight across the desert with fences on each side.  Crossing into Nevada there is a huge sign advertising a Welcome Centre with free Wi-Fi but no indication of where to find it.  All I could see were gambling casinos so I kept driving.  I arrived at Las Vegas to discover the entire road system there under construction.  After crawling along for 4.5 miles I was glad to take Hwy 93 south to Lake Mead. 

 

At Lake Mead I discovered that a 225 site RV Park offered only one dial computer for its entire busy clientele.  Noting that and the $63.00 a night fee I decided I could rough it next door without hook-ups for $10.00 a night.  After visiting the Park’s visitor centre I found a likely campsite, got down my bicycle and went for a long ride.  That evening it remained relatively warm and the stars were brilliant save for the bright lights of Vegas to the North.  Met the campground host in his 40-foot palace on wheels who complained that the park supplied him with only a 30 AMP service which barely ran his two A/C units during the 115º heat of summer.  What can I say?  

 

Before I left Friday morning I got a shot of a rainbow lit by the rising sun.  Even the road to the Hoover Dam was under construction so I gave it a pass.  As I approached California the road rose before my eyes straight and true.  There are two separate lanes for trucks separated by a large median from two car lanes straight up the mountain.  These are gravel mountains, not snow-capped and the pass topped out at 4000 feet before heading down again.  A sticker I’d left on my lone apple saved it from confiscation by Agricultural Inspection.  Shortly thereafter I pulled into Barstow KOA in California and met Salt Cedars and a “unisex” toilet.  When I learned that rain and thundershowers were in the offing for the next day I decided another layover was in order.  I spent the day Saturday ridding my computer of Norton Internet Security which was managing to freeze up a fast computer with 6 GB of memory and when I was finally finished I got back control of my own computer.  It rained overnight Friday and most of Saturday.  Spent the day writing E-mail after getting a shower and filling my internal water tank. 

 

Woke early Sunday morning not having yet adjusted to the Pacific Time Zone.  After getting I and the RV set struck out to find Joshua Tree National Park.  At Victorville on I-15 railed about the challenge that was finding the California Welcome Centre.  Unlike most states this one was on a slip-off lane off the highway but hidden away in an ill-marked plaza after a ½ mile drive.  Don’t think they want to welcome tourists.  Shortly after I got back on the road found myself rising into the mountains on another of those straight up roads.  The summit topped out at 4000 ft and then headed straight down again.  At least the angle was not as precipitous as I have encountered but if one doesn’t watch it one’s speed tends to creep up.  Although the wind was behind me it did gust continually as well.  In the valley between two mountain passes it started raining first light mist and then large splotches of rain.  The mountain peaks were lost in the mist.  The rain continued as I passed through San Bernardino and after I got off the highway for gas I had some problems following my GPS’ direction back onto my intended route. 

 

Finding Joshua Tree was not as easy as one might expect.  There are several on-road and off-road routes to the park and my GPS led me wrong.  After taking my own head for it I found my way to the visitors centre where I learned I needed exact cash to pay for camping.  Ouch!  This meant a 38 mile drive through the park to the nearest ATM.  At least it was a Bank of America so I won’t be socked transfer fees.  Found a campsite among the rocks and settled in for the night after getting some camera shots.  The moonlight last night in the full of the moon was brilliant and lit up the landscape almost like daylight.  It was waking up this morning to rain and then snow that took the shine off affairs.  The geology hike was even cancelled due to weather.  I and two other intrepid souls took the path back to the granite arch clambering over the rocks anyway.  Coming back to hot tea felt good though. 

 

I wish I could report that the weather improved but I spent a night being rocked by the elements in my RV, listening to my furnace run, and the wind whistle around my air vents. 

Weekly Rant 2009-02-02.doc

After over four months in these United States I would comment that they seem united in environmental waste.  In my RV Park I just saw two young brothers headed for the dumpster with two bags of garbage each bigger than either of them.  The amount of garbage headed for landfill here is astounding.  The contribution made by the purveyors of take-out fast food is frightening to behold.  To the three “Rs” of environmentalism:

 

1. Reduce
2. Reuse
3. Recycle

 

I would add Refuse (excess packaging). 

 

Nowhere on this side of the border have I seen a can and bottle deposit program for beer and wine bottles.  I joke that I can assess the popular beer brands from the detritus I see along the side of most roadways.  It feels disquieting to me to be throwing out paper, plastic, glass, foam, and such like but given no alternative and lacking the room to store it I have little choice.  How can the richest country on earth be so profligate? 

 

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

 

Here are a few clips I’ve found lately on the web:

 

Drive-in banks were established so most of the cars today could see their real owners.

E. Joseph Cossman

 

Autobiography is an unrivalled vehicle for telling the truth about other people.

Philip Guedalla (1889 - 1944)

 

Q: Why don't cannibals like to eat Pentecostals?

 

A: Because they keep throwing up their hands.

 

Utility Pole Bites Back

 

In Toronto a dog lifted his leg to spray a light pole once too often when a pole bit back and leaked a charge sufficiently large to electrocute the dog. 

 

iTunes would like to update my music collection to DRM Free downloads for $150.  Talk about being held for ransom.  I lack the disk space and the bandwidth to perform such an operation even if I chose to pay the hostage fee.

The Long and Dusty Road

Friday Morning January 23 I headed out for points West first by heading south of town to pick up Hwy 166 which leads through cattle country.  The point was driven home by the presence of at least a half dozen Texas Cattle Gates placed right in the highway.  Fields may be fenced but steers will be steers.  In the distance clouds could be seen to be forming as the air rose over the Davis Mountains.

 

  Hwy 505 which led to Hwy 90 was so narrow I eventually adopted the expedient of bridging the centre line to avoid the broken pavement at its edge; I met no other traffic.  Hwy 90 led to Valentine, Texas where I posted Post Cards to the gang back home at work for the novelty of it all. 

 

From there it was a short hop to Van Horn where I got gas and stopped for lunch at the Café which served a filling daily special which featured tacos and salsa, soup, a sandwich with potato chips (?), and a small piece of cake.  If the State Troopers eat there it must be good.  From that point it was straight west along I-10 to El Paso.  After registering at the Roadrunner RV Park I visited the nearby Barnes and Noble and Best Buy to pick up a new Laptop to replace my recalcitrant year-old model.  I spent the next three days loading in software and files. 

 

Monday morning I set out for Albuquerque and thought I’d never get out of El Paso.  Crammed between the mountains to the north and the Mexican Border to the south I-10 seems to wind forever through downtown.  In fact the urban area continues right to the New Mexico Welcome Centre.  I-10 and I-25 in New Mexico were characterized by gusting cross-winds that rocked my RV even when it was parked; tumbleweeds bigger than basketballs that crossed the road; dust storms; and the stench of feedlot operations next to the highway.  I was bemused that a town along the way actually changed its name to Truth or Consequences to satisfy the whim of the TV host. 

 

When I reached Albuquerque the maze of highways got me so turned around for the first time I lost track of my directions but the GPS got me close to my campground.  When the confusing series of highways and local names defied me I finally settled on the nearest campground—American RV Park.  It offered complimentary breakfast and the people were pleasant.  Decided to stay for an extra  breakfast and get caught up on my laundry.  During the morning there was a snow squall and a patch of sleet at noon.  Even when I went into town and got groceries and gas I was still surprised when heading west took me back the road I’d just driven in on. 

 

Interstate 40 out of Albuquerque follows the path of Historic Route 66.  The sight of snow-capped mountains grabbed my attention and caused me to pay close attention to the condition of the roads I was driving.  The highway was littered with State Troopers in their SUVs and signs asking one to report drunk drivers.  Alcoholism it would seem is a major problem.  I found USA RV Park in Gallup with a minimum of hassle.  Up the street is the famous El Rancho Hotel that has played host to movie stars the likes of John Wayne and Ronald Reagan in his B-movie days.  It would appear that nostalgia for Route 66 plays a big role in local tourism and the Campground store was littered with memorabilia. 

 

On Thursday January 29 drove up to Bluff, Utah threading my way through the canyonlands.  The approach to Bluff takes one into a Red Rock Rimmed Canyon that gives no sign that there is any human habitation until one finally reaches town and crosses the bridge on the San Juan River.  There an RV Park called Cadillac Ranch demanded cash payment and forced me to pay ATM fees to get money.  Since it was noon when I arrived and I’d not yet tried out my bike since its tire repair I got it down and took a ride around town, all over town.  Red rock bluffs hem the town in on all sides but the dead in the cemetery high on the bluff get the best view.  The campground owners keep a menagerie of pheasants, mallards, coots, ponies, and one loudly braying donkey—is there any other kind.  To my chagrin the power failed that night—I don’t recommend the place!

 

Left early Friday morning after running my generator to heat coffee.  Made a short 100-mile hop to Moab stopping briefly to visit the tourist bureau/museum in Blanding.  Stopped at the Moab visitor’s centre and collected a wealth of information, then went across the street to have lunch and digest it.  The waitress supplied me with cream for my coffee but needed to be reminded that I might need a spoon.  The cheese steak seemed to remain with me all day.  Learning that the local community theatre was presenting a play called the Letter Project I returned to the Visitors Centre to find out about tickets.  Directed to Arches Bookstore I first located the Starr Theatre and then Arches, a coffeehouse, internet café, newsstand, and bookshop where I was sold an $8.00 cash undated ticket.  There I also found Celestial Seasonings Tea for the first time in a decade-unfortunately I failed to notice they sell tea bags not real tea.  I then visited the travel bookstore across the way to pick up the local free weekly—the Zephyr and had a talk with its owner while I petted the resident cat.  Drove up to the Slickrock RV Park and after a bit of a wait actually met the owner and signed in for $20 a night.  His power worked but the washroom lacked toilet paper or towels and the area was never cleaned or replenished.  This location was overrun by cats as well. 

 

Without hooking up drove up to Arches National Park and bought an audio guide and Utah National Parks Guidebook at the Visitors Centre.  The drive though the park was breath-taking passing by rock formations that have appeared in countless movies and TV Commercials.  On the drive up along Hwy 191 it did not seem possible that there was any way to scale the wall of red rock that faces one but a series of switchbacks carved out of the rock takes one up. 

 

After grabbing a quick supper I drove back to town and parked again at the visitors centre.  The Letter Project resulted from a call for letters from the local population which were cobbled together into a series of vignettes that covered the gamut of battle of the sexes, divorce, boy scout camp, Dear John, war, and love letters.   A riff on the Obama Electoral College Map had the Blue States separating from the Red States and taking with them most of the Industry, Beaches, and Natural Resources and leaving behind all the guns, poverty, and the KKK.  Once I found my campground again I spent a quiet night and if the washrooms were not maintained the internet and electricity worked. 

 

Saturday morning I headed out for Salt Lake City.  Wanting to hook up with a pen pal who lives there I drove straight through without taking any pictures.  What I hadn’t actually realized was that my route took me through the Rockies a fact that became very apparent when I started approaching the wall that is the Roan Cliffs and started climbing.  When I reached Soldier Summit at 8000 ft the temperature had dropped to 9º F and I was extremely thankful for a calm clear day that left the road bare and dry.  Snow banks and snow-covered mountains were on all sides.  In spite of it all I made good time only to be held up by a collision in Salt Lake on I-15.  Two hours later I finally reached my Kampground.  Exactly what makes it VIP I’m not sure.  At that point I almost gave up on going further that day but after signing in, getting propane and finding my Kampsite I set out for Draper 21 miles distant and met up with an LDS Pen Pal who was playing a piano concert at a seniors centre there.  One little old dear hummed along to the music.  We had late brunch together and I headed home.  I felt I had a right to feel tired. 

 

Sunday morning saw me catching an 8:30 shuttle to Temple Square.  The shuttle like everything else at Temple Square is absolutely free.  We made it to the Tabernacle in time to see the choir first rehearse and then broadcast live-to-air their Words and Music presentation.  The experience had an other-worldly unreality about it.  After I took the tour of the grounds and went off-site for lunch.  Visited the Beehive—Brigham Young’s home and took a quick tour of the 21,000 seat conference centre.  After ended up making the 2.4 mile trek home on foot.  Spent a quiet evening plotting my next moves and reading up on the road ahead.  When I awoke in the night I decided that a rest day was in order come Monday.  When I tuned into local radio next morning I learned that mad Utah drivers had as our kampground host put it played bumper cars on the highways and every major route out of town was grid-locked.  Something about Utah drivers—they have the best highway system I’ve seen in the US but they still manage to collide with one another at an unseemly rate. 

 

The sun is shining here and the temperature as I write this has reached 42º F.  Today is Groundhog Day and in Pennsylvania Punxsutawney Phil has seen his shadow.  Apparently Shubenacadie Sam, Punxsutawney Phil and Wiarton Willie have all seen their shadows this year.  Did anyone hold out much hope of an early spring this year?  I was given free tokens for a local car wash but I’m not sure that I want to pull up stakes to use them this afternoon as much as the RV could use a wash.  I have loads of E-mail and typing to catch up on.  Zion National Park and the Grand Canyon are between me and Las Vegas and Wi-Fi is doubtful at either location.  While I’m that close I will probably take in both.  I just need to get south again before the next snow storms sweep in.