Walkabout Log – Summer, 2013
There are only a few times in your life when you have the freedom to go where you want when you want. Actually, there have been few times in modern history when this has been true. Thus, when I found myself with the time, money, health, and desire to rove I felt that it I should seize upon the opportunity to leave my comfortable environs and roam. I have always had a tendency to travel; that is one of the things that attracted me first to the sailor’s life, eventually leading to the Navy. My plan was to see people and places on this trip with the emphasis on people; friends and family I have not visited in some time. Since I had paid a visit to the east coast in May, I figured it was time to go west, especially since it was much cooler out there; either close to the cooling influence of the Pacific Ocean or at altitude. Both gave me relief from the smothering August East Texas heat.
I began my walkabout in 2013 with an unusual segment. Rather than proceed directly from The Woodlands west to my intended destinations, I made a significant side trip south to Edinburg Texas to help Ruth move into her new apartment there for her final semester at PA school. I left at first light on Tuesday, 30 July so as to miss the crush of the Houston traffic and also to give me more time to help Ruth move once I got down there. My Ford Focus, Silver, (mileage – 5187) was loaded to the gills with not only the gear I packed for my trip but also a lot of stuff for Ruth’s new place. The trip down went well, although the road from The Woodlands to Edinburg is long and dull. Even Kansas is preferable to the ugly scrub vegetation in south Texas where the only diversions are watching for wild peccaries by the roadside. Nevertheless the familiar trip went smoothly and I arrived in good time to begin the work of shifting her things from her small near-campus apartment in Bronc Village to her new two bedroom place a few miles away. We were somewhat hindered by the fact her new apartment had not had the electricity turned on yet. At this time of year in the Rio Grande Valley no electricity means that Mr. Carrier’s wonderful air conditioning was not available to cool things down, and let me assure you it gets HOT down there. The first day it was well into triple digits with high humidity, but at least there was a wind to stir up things – things like the region’s gritty dust.
After transferring a few loads from her old apartment into the new one, we relocated back to Ruth’s older place which had A/C and so spent the night in comfort. The next day while Ruth went to class I returned to the unair-conditioned place and started to assemble Ruth’s new furniture. Trying to work in +105 degree heat did not work out well. I came close to getting heat stroke. I took a break to go to Lowes to pick up a few things and could feel the air conditioned cool air in the store restoring my vigor (and adding lost IQ points) within a few minutes. Ironically, it seemed the power to the apartment had been turned on after all; we only had to find the well-concealed circuit breaker box to get power. Alas, the AC, though doing its best, was not up to the challenge of bringing down the temperature of the apartment to comfortable levels so we camped out one last night at her old place where it was cool.
The next day, the real first day of my journey, I enjoyed a breakfast with Ruth at IHOP and leaving her to her studies, was on my way shortly after 0800. The initial stages of the trip were familiar, north through Texas brush country passing through little towns that became increasingly separated by long stretches of not much. Signs warning “No Services next ‘x‘ miles” became more frequent. The value of that ‘x’ grew larger and larger; this is not a place where you want your gas tank to go much below half way down. After a hundred miles of going north I turned west. The Rio Grande slowly angled up to intersect my track until I found myself paralleling the US/Mexican border. The number of green Border Patrol vehicles and their checkpoints grew. Looking at some of the terrain I was struck by the severity of the drought that has been gripping this area for several years. The Amistad Reservoir just north of Del Rio was dramatically down – over 20 feet below the normal water line.
At Del Rio, I got lost briefly. I realized that I had missed a turn shortly before I saw the big arches ahead that welcomed me to the international crossing into Mexico. Oops. I made a quick u-turn and back to US 277 heading north. There is no shame in getting lost; irritation maybe but no shame. Jim Bridger the old mountain man was once asked if he had ever been lost in his wanderings. “No,” he replied, “but I have been powerfully confused for a few days.” I must admit that despite maps, an in-car compass, carefully printed directions, and Maps GIS functionality on my iPhone I managed to get lost on every single leg of my trip. I was never badly lost nor did I go all that far out of my way but still, it was predictable and frustrating.
Soon enough I was on US 90 in far west Texas, just north of the Rio Grande, cutting through empty country with a posted speed limit of 75 mph and a practical one based on just how much you trust your car –Silver was willing to give me more than my nerves would allow. I drove for long periods without seeing another car coming or going. There is a lot of space in west Texas; unfortunately it is barren and all but useless. I was more than ready to begin the climb into the Davis Mountains, passing through the charming little towns of Alpine and Ft. Davis on the way to Davis Mountains State Park, where I arrived at 1705. Of course, the park rangers go off duty at 1700 sharp so I had to pick up my reservation off the board and find my way to my little camp site.
A note about my camping gear: most of it was really backpacking gear that was left by middle son Travis, an Eagle Scout. Although it was perhaps a bit dated it was all of high quality if a bit, well, austere. I had a very light Everest sleeping bag, a nice sleeping pad, a little light-weight mess kit, a propane burner, and No Limits back packing tent suitable for one person. I think they should put age limits on those types of tents; my tortuous exits from that tiny enclosure bore a close resemblance to some ponderous crustacean emerging from its shell. I made a point to get up early so as to avoid impolite guffaws from fellow campers as I wormed and squirmed my way out of my little nightly enclosure. However, it was easy to put up and take down and kept me secure whenever I used it.
After a little stroll through the hills around the campsite, I set up my tiny tent with no trouble and tried my hand at cooking on my backpack kitchen kit. I failed miserably. It was not the equipment but the cook and his menu selection. Upon reflection I should have realized that elbow macaroni and sardines would not go well together. Oh, well, calories are calories. It was a nice night so I left of the fly on the tent and watched the stars at night, big and bright, deep in the heart of Texas. I even saw a shooting star before falling asleep. And then I was awakened as a car arrived late in the campsite next to me disgorging a family that included a little girl, maybe nine years old, who yammered incessantly in a ‘fingernails on a chalkboard’ voice. Finally, just after midnight I did something I have never done before: I got out of my tent, walked over to their site, and asked them in a tight but polite voice to observe the campsite’s rules on quiet hours. It worked – I did not hear her again.
I had planned on getting an early start the next morning, relying on the sun to be my alarm clock. It worked just fine except that came up about thirty minutes later than expected; I had traveled over 500 miles to the west and it takes the sun an extra half hour cover that distance. Still, I managed to get a nice breakfast and cup of coffee in me and had my things packed up and was on the road heading for Phoenix at about the same time as the day before.
It took me an hour and a half to get past El Paso and into New Mexico. The ride to Arizona was unremarkable other than my surprise at finding a border checkpoint stopping traffic on I-10. I was almost at my destination before I got lost again. Hey, I didn’t know there were two ‘McDowell’ exits! It was a long drive but once I was there my old college friends Dave and Jan made me feel welcome. They have a nearly perfect house for a couple (designed by Dave). Located outside greater Phoenix, the back of their home opens on a golf course with views beyond into a National Forest. The home is in the Spanish style, with a big flagged central courtyard, graced by a lovely fountain. There is a casita, a semi-separate guest house, off to one side. The main house is open and flowing with cool tiled floors and a splendid view out to the distant hills.
Dave filled me in on with a fascinating tale of his life since last we met. He has not had a career as much as an epic odyssey filled with dazzling successes and disheartening reverses; throughout it all he has stayed on top of things and continued to prosper. Janet had tales of her daughters and her many trips to Spain to visit her daughter, son-in-law, and her beautiful grandsons. We had a lovely meal at their club and a nice chat before I retired early to my elegant quarters. The next morning, Saturday, I was off pushing through surprisingly heavy traffic down to LA and the Pacific Ocean.
I was aware that California has high gas prices so I resolved to refuel well before I got there. Alas, the land near the Arizona/California border is best described as ‘howling wasteland’ of an almost Biblical description. That meant that places to stop for anything were thin on the ground and I wound up paying almost California prices for gas at a little place stuck out in the middle of the desert twenty miles from the line.
There was no doubt when I got into California. My radar detector which had worked as a successful watchdog began going off almost continuously. I eventually had to shift it to the ‘in town’ setting. It is not that there are more cops on that stretch of I-10, it is just that it is flooded with radar from fixed points. The scenery did not improve even as I got deeper into what they call ‘the valley’. However instead of ugly thorn bushes I now had ugly strip malls. This was one stretch when I was very glad of Silver’s air conditioning – the temperatures were desert-like: well into triple digits. Traffic was also heavy even though I could see my route was avoiding the worst of it. LA may not have the very worst traffic in the US but it does go on and on and on. I was glad to finally see the end of I-10 by the cool Pacific Ocean. I had been at the other end where I-10 begins on my trip to Jacksonville two months before so there was a sort of symmetry there.
Dick and Jane are old friends – that is I have known them for a long time; okay, they are my age so I guess they are old friends that way, too. They have a terrific place in Pacific Palisades with a view of the Pacific. I waited until the very end of my journey to get lost this time. My directions led me up a way I do not usually go and I missed a turn. Yikes! With all the traffic I dared not spend too much time looking at my GIS and so I called Jane who provided me with good, clear, and simple directions. Of course I managed to screw them up, allowing myself to get cut off and missing the turn into their place. It did not help my attitude to see poor Jane standing outside their garage waiting for me. It took an illegal u-turn to manage to finally make it into the safely of their complex’s garage.
This being Saturday evening in LA we did what lots of Angelinos do: we went to a movie. Dick and Jane took me to a very nice theater to see Red 2. It is hard to describe how a movie can make killing and mayhem funny, but it did. I would have paid just the see the scene when they cut a car in half with a Dillon mini gun. We had a nice meal at a restaurant and got in at an early hour which was a good thing because ‘Tom was tired’. Dick and Jane have a great sign in their kitchen: “The only reason I have a kitchen is because it came with the house.”
The next morning was a quiet Sunday. Dick and I sat around in the early morning drinking coffee, reading the paper and discussing serious subjects much as we did when we were college roommates. Because he has worked in banking for so long he had some penetrating insights into our financial system, especially the mechanisms which caused the Great Recession. That may not sound interesting, but it was the way Dick spoke of it. Later on, I walked down to a fabulous farmer’s market that sets up on Sundays near their place. There were around a hundred little booths, mostly set up under canopies with all manner of delicious food including fresh fruits and veggies and tasty pastries. I felt positively cosmopolitan wandering through the booths with a freshly-made stuffed croissant and a cup of coffee. After church I headed south down to Hermosa Beach to meet up with my youngest daughter, Tiffany and to meet her boyfriend Shane. They have a brand new apartment not far from the beach. It is very easy to find. Anyone could get to it without getting lost. Well, almost anyone. Once again I found myself relying on my cell phone to get to my final destination and once again wound up with my hostess on the street waving me in.
After I succeeded in locating their apartment and taking the precious parking spot, they saved for me (parking near the beach in California on a perfect Sunday afternoon being as rare as a Republican in LA) we set off to explore their new neighborhood. And a nice neighborhood it is. We checked out a dozen restaurants within half a mile before deciding on a nice Irish pub. After a pleasant lunch we wandered up and down the concrete strip along the beach that is the California equivalent to an east coast boardwalk. We observed and commented upon the architecture of the little shotgun houses facing the water and did some people watching. The people watching was not quite up to the Renfair level but we did see interesting sights such as a guy with a six inch high multicolored Mohawk crest trying to fit into a VW bug without messing up his ‘do’. From time to time we would make detours onto the pier or into some of the many places offering libations and refreshments. We had a wonderful time.
I got back to Dick and Jane’s before dark, and settled in early. I asked Jane if there was a thermostat so that it would be possible to cool my room for sleep.
“Just open a window,” she told me. I cracked one open and cool Pacific air flowed in at just the perfect temperature for sleeping. Living next to the Pacific Ocean does have its advantages.
I left again at first light on Monday in part because Dick and Jane had to work and also because I wanted to get to my next destination, Yosemite, before noon and an early start was essential to avoid LA traffic. I managed to smash a potted plant with my luggage on my way out. They graciously forgave me. Of course, I got lost immediately upon leaving their house, but was only confused for a few blocks and soon was winding my way up Sunset toward the interstate passing vastly expensive houses. I was astonished to see a coyote trotting purposefully down Sunset Boulevard in the early morning light, obviously heading back to his suburban den after a night of raiding garbage bins or perhaps after a tasty ‘catsnack’. Fortunately, thanks to the good directions provided to me I was able to get on the interstate and get counter flow of the mass of traffic flooding into the great metropolis. I decided that I really did not like the area around Bakersfield. Gas was high, the road was ugly, and when I stopped for breakfast for myself and Silver the people were rude to the point of hostility. Oh, well.
Soon enough I was out of that mess and climbing toward what is considered some of the most beautiful scenery in North America. The visit to Yosemite was the big question mark in my whole trip. When I previously lived in California I was never able to get a reservation into the campgrounds there, so it was no surprise that I was unable to do so online from Texas. I did learn that there were several campsites that were ‘first come first served’. The web page recommended getting there before noon – thus my hurry to arrive. As I approached the little town of Oakhurst, a place as surely tied to Yosemite National Park as Orlando is to Disney World, I saw a sign that said, ‘Yosemite Sierra Visitor Center’, a little one-story place that obviously traded on people coming into the park. I made a rapid decision to swing around and go in, which in retrospect was one of the better decisions I made on this trip. I entered and asked the busy people behind to counter “Can anyone give me some advice on camping in Yosemite?”
My plaintive tone must have struck a chord because a stout middle-aged woman named Judy immediate got up from her desk and said, “I’ll take care of him.”
And she did. She put good maps in my hand and highlighted the best campgrounds for me to try, starting with Glacier Campground south of Yosemite Valley. She even called and confirmed they still had campsites available.
“I prefer the Wolf Creek campground myself,” she told me pointing at a place on highway 120 well north of Yosemite Valley. “The northern part of the park is much less crowded. But it will take you at least a couple of hours to get there.”
I waited patiently in line at the park entrance behind a line of cars, each paying their entry fee to enter the park. All it took for me to enter was to flash my Senior Pass at the ranger and I was waved in. My $10 life time pass into all National Parks thus paid for itself. I followed cars through the winding two lane road up ever up into the mountains. I decided to change the channel on my satellite radio to the SPA channel which broadcasts new age stuff; it seemed more in tune with the scenery. Soon the steep hills and towering pines began to interfere with satellite reception. I did not care.
As warned, progress was far from rapid. Eventually I found the Glacier Point road and turned east going ever higher. After eight twisting miles I saw the Glacier Point camp ground and better yet, the sign that indicated there were campsites available. I found a good one, not too far from the head, set up my little tent and folding chair, and moved everything that a bear could possibly think of as food (like toothpaste) into the steel bear box provided at every campsite. Ah, home sweet home. Now it was time to check out Yosemite Valley.
I remembered from my youth reports of how the valley was overcrowded with traffic jams and air pollution so I was prepared for a lot of traffic; after all it was high summer and peak vacation time. I was pleasantly surprised to find only a reasonable number of vehicles on the road moving at 35 miles per hour but that was due to the twisting narrow road, not congestion. You enter the valley through a mile-long tunnel cut through the hard rock, emerging to find one of the grand vistas in all the Rockies: Yosemite Valley stretching away to the west.
As with the Grand Canyon, photographs do not do it justice. They cannot capture the sheer power of the granite cliffs and perspective stretching away before you. It is simply stunning. The road leads down onto the flat valley floor between the cliffs. Geologists tell us that the ice caps from repeated glaciations ground away lesser rocks but were unable to effect the extremely hard granite formations on either side of the valley. A thousand years ago the valley floor was a long narrow lake but that naturally filled in and now it is a flat park-like area perhaps a quarter mile wide, with mighty pines giving shade beneath. A New Yorker might think it is like God’s version of Central Park. The difference is that instead of so-called skyscrapers there are these sheer cliffs that reach up over half a mile high. You can feel their mass and strength in your bones.
I stopped along the way taking pictures and admiring the view, once getting out and walking up a trail for a bit. It advertised it would reach the top in only four miles. Of course, there was also a gain in altitude of some three thousand feet so I did not go all that far. As to traffic, there was some, but there was no real congestion; the park service has done a good job of allowing people access without ruining the environment of the park. I am not sure but I think I spent an hour or two driving the loop; I was so lost in the surroundings it is hard to say. I made my way back up to my little campsite and reflected upon things for a bit then headed out to Glacier Point a fit farther up. A couple of miles up the road was a big sign announcing that trailers and RV’s over 30 feet long were prohibited beyond this point. Good thing, too as the road got narrower and even twistier as I climbed up to the point.
It was worth the drive. The views were astonishing. I realized that I was atop one of the cliffs I had been staring up at from the valley far below. Directly across from me was Half Dome, one of Yosemite’s most famous formations. There were half a dozen waterfalls visible on the on other side of the valley, incredibly tiny but still visible in the pellucid air. Walking to the edge where a low but sturdy stone wall had been erected I could look right down into Yosemite Valley way, way down there. I am not particularly fond of heights but this view did not bother me at all. There was a sense of massive stability in the rocks at my feet that put me at ease. Once again the incredible sweep and majesty of the scene could not be really captured by my little iPhone camera but I tried.
The view was somewhat tainted by a thin layer of smoke from a small fire that had been burning in the back country for over a month. It would continue to burn for another month unhindered by fire crews who would soon be overwhelmed by the major fires that burned vast areas of the wilderness just to the west of the park. Fires are a natural and necessary part of the ecosystem – it is only when they begin to threaten structures does the fire fighting system go into high gear.
I returned for yet another forgettable meal. That is not true; I wish I could forget the watery pasta. This time I put the sardines on crackers which was a much better idea. It was already cool and the low was predicted to be around 37 degrees at our altitude (just over 7,000 feet). My lightweight Everest mummy bag was rated for 32 degrees but I was still a bit uneasy as I crawled into my little No Limits tent for the night. I need not have worried – I stayed very comfortable throughout the night and awoke shortly before dawn, in time to beat most of the other campers to the head. The morning was cold but still and dry thus the temperature was quite tolerable. Unlike all the other campsites I visited, Yosemite does not offer showers. Fine by me, it was too cool to sweat and too cold to take a shower any way.
In stark contrast to my efforts at preparing an evening meal, my breakfasts were always successes. I could get my little propane burner to heat water and that was all I needed for my powdered coffee, creamer, and chocolate mix to provide a cup of the life-giving liquid, with enough water left over to prepare instant oatmeal mixed with nuts and raisins. Not only was this meal easy to make, it was delicious and held off the hunger quite well all morning. Despite my simple camping gear it still usually took me about an hour from the time I crawled out of my tent until I was packed up and ready to go. This morning I had a relatively short leg up to Grover Hot Springs to meet with my dear friends Andy and Kathy Norrell.
Leaving out the backside of the park was a slow and roundabout process. That was fine with me; I was still loving the scenery. To get out it was necessary to once again go through the Yosemite Valley loop, exiting to the north. I took time to get a good look at El Capitan, a magnet for extreme rock climbers the world over. Another thing I learned about the park: it is much bigger than I thought. The lower third of Yosemite National Park contains the valley, but the majority of the park is well north of that and it is also very beautiful. I was stunned at Lake Tenaya, a lake almost as pretty as Lake Tahoe, except there were no buildings and few people enjoying the lake. I could see why Judy preferred this end of the park.
I took over two and a half hours to get out of Yosemite but I did not mind; I could have stayed another week or so. But Andy and Kathy were waiting at Grover Hot Springs in campsite #13. The distance was not great so I took my time. The back (east) side of the Sierra Nevada Mountains is remote and sparsely populated. It was here that I saw the highest gas prices (over $5 for premium) and the worst cell coverage. Since I had plenty of time I even stopped for lunch at a real mom and pop type burger stand. I showed up at Grover Springs around 2 in the afternoon and confidently told the bored park ranger that I was staying with my friends in campsite #13 and told him their name.
“That is not their campsite,” he smugly told me checking his list of campers. I was gob smacked. After a bit more looking he further told me no one of their last name had a reservation at his park at all. I tried to describe them to him but he was not really interested. Of course, there was no cell coverage to check with them. The ranger told me that there was no coverage in the entire county and as there were only 1300 residents in the whole county and they did not expect to get cell phones anytime soon. He then offered to let me drive through the campsite and look for my friends. No luck. I even tried calling them on a payphone, the first one I have used in years. Nothing. I was stuck. I decided that something must have happened to cause them to have to cancel – car trouble, health issues, or some other pressing issue. I could stay the night there for $27 but frankly I was there to see my friends not just to stay at that particular campground. Being there alone with little to do was not appealing. I had another pair of friends who were in a campsite in Plumas Eureka State a couple of hours north that I was supposed to join the next day. I decided to take the bird in the hand and abandoning my appointment with Andy and Kathy I headed north up past Lake Tahoe and on to Plumas Eureka. Shortly after I had passed the point of no return I got a call from Andy from the same pay phone I had used. They were in fact there and had been on a hike when I came by. The reservations had been in Kathy’s maiden name. Ack! I was disappointed but decided the circumstances were so bizarre that it was just ‘not meant to be’ at least on this trip, and so continued north. Missing Andy and Kathy was the worst thing that happened to me on the entire trip. I resolved not to let my disappointment ruin the rest of the trip and pressed on to join my friends Dave and Kathie.
I was able to make cell contact long enough to let Dave and Kathie know I was enroute and we arranged to meet at a restaurant outside the park where they were staying. After we rendezvoused we shared a meal and caught up with the events since we had last met over a year before. They had reserved a nice little campsite for me beside theirs, beside a little brook. The next morning I joined them for a hike. I should have remembered that these two have done lots of hiking all over the western US in the year since they retired and moved to Oregon. Though they are my age they are both very fit. It was only a little walk in the park, three and a quarter miles or so up to the Pacific Crest Trail. Yes it was a clear trail with splendid views, but it was rocky and, more to the point, seriously uphill. I should have realized that the PCT runs along a crest and that crest was a couple of thousand feet higher than our camp. Yikes! But we were able to make it up without lasting damage although my gasping for air up there probably registered on the Richter scale. We had a small picnic in a pine grove just below the summit before heading down again. It is an odd thing – often it is on the way down that you begin to be daunted. ‘I climbed up this?’ Still, it was a fine long walk if a difficult.
That evening we had a nice meal to celebrate my not collapsing on the trail. The next morning it was coffee and oatmeal for breakfast and an early departure – I had miles to go. My intent was to go as far as I could toward Estes Park, Colorado, taking shelter at a motel either at dark or whenever I wore out, whichever came first. I did my usual getting lost bit early on but made good time. The most interesting part of the day was coming out of the hills and down to the glaring white and oh so level Bonneville Salt Flats. I blew through Salt Lake City just before rush hour (and a lowering thunderstorm) could bog me down. I passed up a chance to camp at the charmingly named Starvation State Park and instead took a motel room in Roosevelt, Utah. The expression ‘eat, drink, and be merry for tomorrow you may be in Utah’ was probably coined in a place like Roosevelt Utah, but I was not there to have a good time, I was there to rest and recover overnight – which is what I did.
The next day I cruised into Estes Park, Colorado, taking the very scenic route that brought me up through the west side of Rocky Mountain National Park. Once again I had the pleasure of flashing my Senior Pass to enter the park free of charge. The park is less crowded at the western end; even so I found traffic congested on the twisty two lane roads, especially when I passed a huge male moose grazing in a stream off to the left. Many people just stopped to take a quick photo. I would have but did not dare with all the cars about. Highway 34 cuts through the Rocky Mountain National Park and is well worth the drive. It crests out at the Alpine Visitor’s Center which has a listed altitude of 11,786 feet. As I climbed I could see precipitation at the higher elevations where I was headed. The temperature had been dropping steadily and by the time I passed the center it was 41 degrees. I stopped and hopped out of the car for a few quick photos; quick because it was cold and wet. As I went past the crest I saw it: snow! Snow in the ground in August! Okay, it was far from the fat romantic flakes that I fantasize about. But remember, I am a Florida boy who lives in Texas. There was snow on the ground in August! I have photographic evidence.
I was astonished to see tourists out in the rain/sleet/snow wearing shorts. Although seeing snow was exciting, it also made driving a bit iffy, especially for the many motorcyclists in the park. As I descended the snow turned into a sullen gray rain which undoubtedly why I missed the cut off to Fred and Pam’s house and wound up taking a tour through downtown Estes Park. I arrived at their home just after 1400 on Friday, 9 August.
I spent three days with the Grubes. I did some minor work around the house and my mother-in-law cooked delicious meals for us. Pam and I spent some quality evenings on their back deck watching the light slowly recede on the mountains on the far side of the valley while we enjoyed a sundowner cocktail or glass of wine. I did a little bit of yard work, ate well, took some quality naps, and did some hiking. On Monday morning I walked up Mt. Lilly, a two mile walk up about a thousand feet to almost 9800 feet. I scurried down before the typical afternoon thunderstorms could arrive; they sometimes bring lightning, cold rain, and on Sunday afternoon they even had a little sleet.
I departed Estes Park on Tuesday morning to proceed in the direction of my cousin, William who lives in McKinney Texas about 900 miles east. I made a reservation at Clayton Lake State Park in the far north east corner of New Mexico as I did not want to do the whole nine hundred plus miles in one day. Clayton Lake was about half way there and it seemed like a good choice. Besides, it had petrified dinosaur tracks.
As I rode south on I-25 with the Rockies on my right hand and the Great Plains on my left I could not help but notice the intermittent rain showers that at times slowed my progress. Some of the clouds looked positively threatening. By the time I found Clayton Lake State Park and checked in around 1500, I could tell that it had rained recently and probably would do so again. The site was not promising – there was a reservoir with stone banks, a few small trees, and lots of rocks. I was not really surprised; after all this is New Mexico. Although the picnic tables were very nice and all had a solid metal roof, that was about it. All the other campers were in nice RV’s or trailers – big ones. I had planned that in the event of rain I would rig a blue tarpaulin over my tent to provide more shelter from the rain. This plan envisioned trees to use as supports for line that I would use to hold up this tarp. Unfortunately the only thing near my site was a low scrubby cedar tree/bush. There were lots of rocks but they were too small for my purposes. I made what was probably the best decision of the entire trip. I decided I was too old for rocks in the rain and hit the road again. I got another three hours down the road and found a motel room in the bustling burg of Memphis, Texas. I eschewed the “Good Enough Motel” (what a great name) and stayed at a somewhat more respectable place where they charged me $42 for a decent room. I lay in my bed that night watching the weather channel showing storms going right over Clayton Lake. I reflected on what it would be like trying to stay dry in a tiny tent on the rocks in the rain. Then I turned off the TV, rolled over and went to sleep, awakened only when thunder sounded outside my snug little room as the front passed through.
The next day I made it to the lovely home of William and Eddie where I spent two nights, enjoying their company, doing some fine dining, and sitting on the back porch throwing toys for the dogs. I left on Thursday morning, 15 August. My route home was easy, literally only three turns. But then I decided to try to avoid some traffic and wound up missing a turn. Although it was a ‘token lost’ it did serve to keep my record of getting off my desired route intact. Despite that small hiccup I was home in time for lunch. My dogs did a delirious and extended dance of joy upon my return. After acknowledging their greeting I set to work unloading and repacking my car. I had to go back down to see Ruth in Edinburg the following day.
I enjoyed my trip immensely. Not only did I get to spend some quality time with friends and family that I do not see nearly often enough I got a chance to see some really spectacular scenery. My trip covered slightly over 5,000 miles, and I used 151.3 gallons of gas to cover that distance at a cost of ~$550. This was about what I had expected, though I was a bit low on estimated gas prices. Still, because I only had to stay in motels twice, the housing costs were minimal. Actually, cost was not the reason I avoid motels; I simply prefer to stay with friends or camp out in the wilderness. I had not camped out in a decade and missed it. So my little adventure journey was a success. Aside from missing my chance to see Andy and Kathy there was not much that I would have altered. I enjoyed planning for it, doing it, and recalling it – can’t do much better than that.
Now for my next adventure.
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