¿Qué hora es?

For several years I’ve been spending the colder months just inside the southeast corner of California in a BLM area where I have never seen the 14-day camping limit enforced.

Meanwhile, I get my supplies and various services a few miles away in Yuma, with low-cost dental/vision/prescriptions/fresh shrimp available immediately across the border in Mexico.

It has been a good setup for me — with one exception. Arizona is Mountain Time and California is Pacific Time (except during Daylight Saving Time when their clocks match). 

Lou and I used to debate which time we should keep our clocks set to when we camped here. This was particularly critical to him because he always wanted to make his supply runs first thing in the morning to beat the traffic and crowds (or at least feel like he had). So he ran on Mountain Time. 

On the other hand, I didn’t really care when I got to Yuma (except lunch hour traffic is awful) but was more interested in getting in and out of Los Algodones early enough to avoid long lines getting back across the border. Baja California runs on Pacific time.

But now there’s no one to argue with. I can function in whichever time suits me at the moment.

What still freaks me out a little is when you’re in the eastern edge of a time zone the sun sets so early. As if the decreased daylight hours of the season aren’t enough, we have the manmade time grid overlaying it. Sunset at 4:38? And it’ll only get worse over the next six weeks? Sigh. This is why hibernation was invented.

Yesterday afternoon

On my back to see the belly

I store my spare key in a magnetic holder under the van. I needed to use that key a few days ago when I somehow got out of my usual parking rhythm and locked my regular key in the Rolling Steel Tent. I was in a dirty spot at the time and didn’t want to get even dirtier returning the spare key to it’s hiding place. So there was a period when both keys could have ended up locked in the van. I finally re-hid the spare a few minuted ago. I took a look around while I was down there. Any signs of leaks or something falling off? Any vegetation stuck under there? Any rust? No, just dirt and some dried mud. So the van is fine (I guess) and I’m prepared to stupidly lock myself out again.

I’m a shadow of my current self

Personal values vs. desires

I want to spend several months (at least) on the Baja peninsula. Cell service is spotty and net access is iffy and of unreliable quality. Some campgrounds have wifi, but for a fee and for limited hours of operation.  The same for net cafes where they exist. Starlink would be a solution, but I refuse to give any money to Elon Musk. So, it looks like my choices are:

1. Adjust to far less net use
2. Stay in larger towns with better service instead of secluded areas

3. Don’t go to Baja

None of those are appealing at the moment.

It wasn’t a great couple of days

My friend Deni had been struggling for a few years with getting an ailment properly diagnosed and treated. She had been in Washington with a daughter, Missouri with other family, and Colorado to finally get things taken care of. She’s feeling much better but is still weak.

When an online acquaintance in southeastern Arizona offered Deni a pre-fab tiny house on a piece of land shared with a few others she decided it would be a good home for part of the year and a base from which to continue her nomadic wanderings.

Deni put out feelers for people to help load a studio apartment’s furnishings and household items into and onto her minivan, and others to unload them at the destination, I volunteered for the unloading. Others had helped her load in Colorado.

I met up with Deni in Willcox AZ, about 25 miles from the property, which she hadn’t seen yet. We set off with some directions that proved to be vague and incomplete. After phoning one of the people at the property they found us and led us in.

Have you been to Slab City? You know how some “homesteads” are neatly kept and others look like the aftermath of a tornado with crap scattered all over the place? This property was like the latter. And the pre-fab tiny house was filthy inside. Deni decided to pass.

“Find me the closest self-storage place,” she whispered to me before telling the host there was no way she would stay in a sty like that. I found a couple places with available space. We chose the one that was half the price.

I was astounded how much stuff had been packed into that minivan and on a rooftop carrier. I was also astounded by the number of bungee cords holding the load in place. Bed frame and headboard, easy chair, desk chair, tables, pictures… But we got it all transferred in less than an hour.

All that and more in a minivan

Then the question was where to go. Deni wanted to eventually get to Quartzsite, but there was no rush. I said, “Well, we could go back to Las Cienegas National Conservation area where I had camped prior to the lake in Willcox. About an hour and a half west.” Deni was up for that. So off we went.

The next morning (which surprised us with frost on the windows and ground) Deni said she had accidentally left some necessary things in the storage unit. She decided she would drive back there while I continued on to Ironwood Forest northwest of Tucson, then meet up with me there.

Now, when I travel with someone I start feeling I’m responsible for things. That is especially true when I’ve been driving in the lead position at the others’ request, and even more true If I’ve been in the area before and they haven’t. So I felt like I should go back to the storage place with Deni. But she said that wasn’t necessary. I reluctantly relented.

As we drove the dirt road back to the highway, where she would turn east and I would turn west, we came upon some cattle grazing by the road. As I approached, one of them spun toward the road, saw its mistake, and spun away. I continued on at a slow pace. After a few seconds I noticed Deni wasn’t behind me, but in a second she was, and frantically waving for me to stop. We pulled over and she came running to me, very upset. Here is her account of the incident:

I met a large beautiful black cow today. She met me too. I think her name may be 'Too Slow Sally'. Actually, we hit it off right away! 

Now for the traumatic part of our encounter...

I was following a friend, lagging behind as usual. I saw about nine cows cross the road as I was slowly approaching from a distance. I watched them all cross the road happily walking along. Then came Sally! 

Sally walked out from the bushes right in front of my van. I slowed even more without slamming the brakes due to my van being fully loaded. Sally and I gazed into each others eyes both knowing that we were not going to avoid what happens next. I believe Sally could have made it across, but she didn't run straight across the road. We were staring into each other he eyes and she ran across but at an angle towards the car. BAM!!!!

Sally was knocked off her legs impacted by the van around her thigh area. Her body barely lifted to my hood, sealing it shut and she flew off into the grass. I was immediately shaken and concerned for her. The other cows turned back to see what had happened. Sally was just there on the grass not moving. I sped off to catch my camp friend because I didn't know what to do for Sally, plus her family was giving me the evil eye.

I cried like a baby. My friend went back to check on the cow while I continued to cry like a caring person. I didn't know if she was alive, injured, or dead. Apparently, she was only stunned. She had left with her family when he checked. 

No cow laying in the grass, thankfully!

The end. Goodnight. I love you Sally. Stay safe babe!

Honestly, I can't stop seeing her eyes staring into mine. Like I said, she is a beautiful cow and is probably still lagging behind the small herd.

Deni was very traumatized. When I returned to report the news she was bent over dry heaving. I thought it was more important than ever to follow her back to the storage unit. But she insisted she was okay. So… okay.

I had been to the camping spot at Ironwood Forest several times. But now there was a detour because of a washed out bridge. So I had to wander in search of another route. Once I found it I sent Deni detailed turn-by-turn directions. But I failed to notice before sending that auto-correct had changed one of the road names. So Deni overshot the freeway exit and had to double back. Then, since the entry from the dirt road isn’t really marked, she overshot that too. I saw her go by and called to guide her back.

And then there were the election results. I couldn’t sleep all night, even with the aid of some Benadryl. When first light started to show I had the compelling need to just go, to flee, to put myself physically far from the news. I bid Dani goodbye, wished her well, assured her my anxiety and my need to run had nothing to do with her, and said we’d see each other down the road.

So now I’m at my usual winter camping area in the far southeast corner of California. The familiarity, the routine have helped me calm down. A little.

All the cranes

The sandhill cranes congregated at the water in the evening and roosted there for the night. The Internet explains this is for safety from predators, social connections, and conservation of energy.

So there were hundreds of cranes hanging out at the lake this morning. When the sun started cresting the nearby mountains the birds began to fly off to feeding areas. In the meantime they chattered and squawked.

I got out my real camera and a telephoto lens and shot from the warmth of the Rolling Steel Tent, not encroaching on the cranes’ territory.

Oops, I spooked the cranes

I’m camped by a lake on the outskirts of Willcox AZ and wanted to get closer to the sandhill cranes to get a better photo. But they didn’t want me any closer. Okay, so this is the best I could do.