TDHoch Sabbatical Journal: 2016 Winter

Alright, it’s time to do a post on our Winter in the Southwest. While procrastination has it’s benefits, there comes a point when it’s actually easier to just get the job done. The effort to resist the nagging reminders and the reality that it will have to be done at some point anyway becomes too great to put it off any longer.

But it’s been a nice break from posting.

Overall, our two months in the Southwest was, for the most part, a repeat of the model that was cast during our Winter last year. We spent about half our time at Dar’s Sister’s house, Casa de Cher, and the other half of our time out in the desert in southwest Arizona and southern California. With few exceptions, most of our overnight camps are boondocks on government land.

People ask if we’re concerned about our safety when boondocking. Early in our full-timing life, oh… maybe 8 or 9 years ago, there were some thoughts of concern. We didn’t b-dock a lot back then, but when we did our senses were heightened and our perimeter of concern, our personal “space”, grew quite large. Like maybe a quarter mile or more. We were more watchful than usual and attuned to any sounds that might be out of the ordinary. Like most people, we’re accustomed to being around others and find comfort in numbers… relying on the idea that there are more good folks than nasty ones and the larger number of good ones provide a measure of safety to all. We are social animals after all.

But let’s get real. Let’s think about this for a moment. When is the last time you heard about someone being assaulted while camping on BLM land? I’m sure there are incidents, perhaps fed by alcohol and provoked by unreasonable conflict between people that know each other, but I can’t remember ever hearing about someone being randomly harassed or assaulted by total strangers while b-docking. The reality is that the vast majority of those out on public lands are there for the same reason we are. The short answer is that we don’t think about it any more, preferring to enjoy the peace and solitude of being among the mountains, or next to a stream, or on the desert floor. We may be social animals but we do enjoy… even crave… days of solitude like this.

We do, however, believe that some folks we’ve met have indeed been abducted by aliens and had their minds altered, or in some cases, sucked out altogether. How else can you account for the bizarre beliefs and ideas that seem to emanate from the mouths of some people?

And that get’s me to the larger subject of fear. Almost wherever you turn these days, someone is doing their best to make you fearful of something. Fear sells. Whether it’s that big snowstorm heading your way, the big earthquake that’s due at any minute, your aches and pains, polarized politics, terrorism, product recalls, the quality of our food supply, even much of what’s fed from person to person on facebook and other social media… we’ve learned to be fearful. Fear will make you tune into the newscast. It’ll make you “ask your doctor” about new drugs to alleviate what in reality are normal symptoms of the natural aging process. It’ll get you all ramped-up about those bastards on the other side of your politics. And it’ll make people fearful of being alone in the desert. The best advice I can provide is to live fearlessly. Not foolishly, but fearlessly. The situation is almost never as bad as others tell you it is.

Now that I’ve gotten more than 500 words into this post about our Winter in the Southwest, I suppose I should get to that subject.

Our Winter in residence at Casa de Cher was comfortable and enjoyable… mixing plenty of family “doings” with partaking in the cultural, social, and recreational opportunities of Sun City West.

During our various forays into the desert, we boondocked in more than a dozen spots, each with it’s own unique environment. Hiking and climbing opportunities in every direction. We climbed to interesting looking saddles and peaks… just to do it, and to see what’s on the other side.

While at one boondock in the Saddle Mountain BLM area, early in the morning, Dar became aware of a nearby hot air balloon. The morning stillness was broken by the roar of a big propane burner… a good sign there’s a ballooner in the neighborhood. But this one wasn’t doing a normal fly-by. Oh no. This one was very low, close to the ground, and very close to the mountain, and appeared to be on a collision course. We watched in anticipation of being called on as rescuers. But the balloon quietly and without incident slid behind a fold, a crease in the mountain… like a boat feeling it’s way through a narrow fjord. But a boat can be steered, the balloon, even with the best pilot, is at the whim of the wind.

So this ballooner, somewhere on the risk continuum between gutsy and crazy, slid the bag of hot air through a crack that couldn’t have much wider than the balloon itself. We lost sight of it and prepared ourselves for the inevitable rescue mission. Tense moments turned into minutes. Probability was closer to certainty as the clock turned the future into the past.

Balloon got our attention. Very low, moving from left to right.

Starting to slip through a crease in the mountain.

Almost out of sight. We were preparing to mount a rescue operation.

But then, maybe 10 or 15 minutes later, it reappeared over a saddle between two shorter peaks of the complex. That must have been some impressive ride. Pictures attached.

Apparently unscathed, re-appears a few minutes later.

(To be continued…)

During our fulltiming years, we’ve tended to gravitate southward during the core of Winter. For a few years we found a cold-weather home along the Gulf Coast of Texas, but with the evolving transition of our homebase to the Pacific Northwest, we’ve recently found the Southwest more to our liking, and certainly easier to get to. And so it is that this Winter again, we’re heading off to Arizona for a couple months. After a dreary month or two in the PNW, a little sunshine and warm-ish weather works magic on the spirits and emotions of a nomadic traveler.

With preparations more or less completed (at last), we were finally underway about 9:30 Sunday the 10th. I passionately like travel, but the preparations drive me crazy. I’d love to just toss a quick bag in the truck and go… head out on the road. But Dar keeps reminding me that it might be good to have a few supplies, a little food, some gear. You know, a few things that our survival might depend on?

I was really looking forward to the route. I-5 to CA-89 on the south side of Mt. Shasta, CA-44 at Old Station to CA-36 which took us into Susanville. Just outside of Susanville we picked up US-395 which was the centerpiece of the trip south this time. 395 is a north/south route that hugs the back side of the Sierra Nevada Range along the eastern border of California. At Kramer Junction we take CA-58 over to I-40, then AZ-95 through Lake Havasu City and the Parker Strip to AZ-72 to and through Bouse and down to I-10 and into Phoenix. Took the 303 up the west side to Sun City West. According to Google, total driving time and mileage should be about 20 hours and 1200 miles.

And it also looked like the weather was going to cooperate with our plans… a veritable hole in this year’s “El Ninõ” storm, as it were.

CA-89 on south side of Mt. Shasta

The first night we spent at a Courtyard by Marriott on the southern edge of Carson City. It was over our usual budget by we splurged because it was after sunset, I was done driving, and because every once in awhile you just gotta treat yourself. The joint was certainly not busy (Sunday night, January) but they did have alcohol and some food. Don’t normally pay $12 for a glass of wine… but we did. And it was actually a wine that was almost worth that, some version of Estancia. Enjoyed it a lot. Also split an expensive sandwich and soup.

The second night we stopped in Lone Pine, literally in the shadow of Mt. Whitney, tallest peak in the lower 48 at an elevation of 14,505. Stayed at a Best Western… the Frontier Motor Inn if I remember correctly. The front desk of the motel directed us to The Grill, what they claimed was the best bet for a good meal in the little town of 2000. After a quick perusal of the famed Alabama Hills movie set area west of town, we did stop for dinner at The Grill and had an exceptional time with the waiter, Bobby. He’s an older… ah, mature… gent who I thought was the owner. No, not the owner… just loved his job. We were early enough to be the first patrons of the evening. He saw us walking to the front door from the parking lot and had our table completely set, including waters, by the time we passed through the door. Both the company and the food was very agreeable. He must have enjoyed our banter too as he topped off our by-the-glass wines with nearly a second glass… no charge. Considering it’s a Monday, in January, in a very small town, I was impressed with the steady flow of customers through the restaurant. No doubt it was the happenin’ place in Lone Pine.

The third night we stayed in a previously visited desert boondock spot near the junction of I-40 and AZ-95. Turned off at the next exit to the east, and drove a mile or so south out into the desert. We had been here a few years ago while visiting the Lake Havasu area looking for boondock areas for future reference. This one was definitely NOT motorhome accessible, but was “easy-as-pie” for an F-350 and little camper. Got there early enough in the afternoon to soak up some sun, but no effort was made for a campfire. Not another person for almost as far as we could see. By morning the temperature was near freezing, but we had slept well.

Notable observations and happenings along the way:

The “winter wonderland” drive through the Shasta National Forest. The day was windless and bright clear blue sky made for a wondrous scene. Recent snow filled the boughs of pine trees to capacity, which randomly surrendered and dumped their snow load in a mini-blizzard, much to our delight. Even in Wisconsin, winter days like this were rare.

Gas prices in California, especially along 395 and out near the Mojave Desert, were just stunningly high. With per gallon prices hovering near $2.20 in Oregon and under $2.00 in Phoenix, this area in between was selling the same stuff for between $3.00 and $3.79.

During our trek, the Powerball Lottery jackpot was over one billion dollars… highest ever. The Wednesday night drawing produced three winners who will share the $1.6 billion jackpot. The furor did motivate us to contribute $4 for two nearly impossible chances. A few bucks for a fantasy, is how I look at it.

The drive on Hwy 395 between Carson City and Lone Pine was better than hoped for. Once again, we lucked out with about the best weather conditions a traveler could ask for. With a coating of winter snow, the Sierras are just spectacular. This was the reason we drove this route. This was what we came to see.

At one point, Dar encouraged me to turn around and go back to a small parking area at Mono Lake. She had a picnic in mind and it was a good idea. The asphalt parking lot was still coated with an intermittent layer of snow and ice which mostly kept other travelers from intruding. An enjoyable break in a scenic drive.

Nearly constant sun during the day is such a contrast to the nearly constant gloom that can be the PNW during winter. More than warmth, old Sol is what I crave during the winter in the Southwest. This winter, a strong Ninõ has resulted in a rather wet Southwest, and a somewhat cooler period as well. We’re hoping for a moderation of that effect.

We also made a quick stop in Barstow at the historic Harvey House, also known as CASA DEL DESIERTO. Another in a series of handsome railroad terminals along the old Sante Fe main line, it’s currently a community multi-use facility. The main level has two large rooms that were dedicated to food service… one more formal dining room and the other a huge lunch counter that could seat more than 50 people at once. While not as architecturally significant as La Posada in Winslow, it’s another glimpse into the elegant history or rail travel in the early 20th century.

Here are a few more shots from our trek.