Wherein we blow this joint

Sometimes things conspire against us nomads and we end up stuck somewhere much longer than we wanted. Even nice places can turn tiring.

Such was the case with my friend, Lesa. Cottonwood, Arizona, had had many things to offer her, including medical help. But four months there were more than enough. She was aching to move on. I spent the past week doing what I could to help her wrap things up. The major item was getting her previously-owned Scamp travel trailer roadworthy.

Out of the desert, up into the forest and cooler temperatures

Today was the maiden voyage. East through Payson and up onto the Mogollon Rim. We're making our way to New Mexico. I followed behind to keep an eye on the trailer. Nothing fell off. Nothing caught fire. Success. (Except for the briefly getting lost part.) Lesa is the towing queen.

Morning mystery

Why is there condensation on the windshield but not on the side windows? Because the windshield is thicker?

Sleep, interrupted

I was dreaming Christian Slater was staging a Dadaist musical in a storefront theatre.

Knock knock knock police department.

There were can-can dancers and a giraffe.

Knock knock police department.

I never got to see the second act. It was going to be amazing.

Knock knock knock knock, "Police department."

"Huh what hello?"

"You okay in there?"

"Yeah."

I was camped in a turnout on BLM land, about 20 yards from the highway. I could've been about a half mile farther from the highway, but the dirt road was muddy and I didn't know whether it would cause problems. I hadn't wanted to find out in the dark.

"I saw your door was open. It looked suspicious."

The side and rear doors were open about four inches. The officer had opened the rear door more and was shining his flashlight around. Would he want to search the van?

"Ventilation," I said.

"Uh-huh. You working around here or something?"

"No. Camping. Traveling. With my friend over there."

"There's no camping in town." (Crap, am I being rousted at... at... what time is it?) "But you're far enough out, so you're okay here." (Thank you.)

"Okay."

"Have a good night."

"Thanks for your concern." (How long does it take adrenalin to pass through one's system?)

Eric

Eric is a mechanic. He doesn't like his smile. His wife, Christine, disagrees.

This is not Christine

There arose such a clatter

I awoke this morning to a clickity-clackity noise. I was groggy, plus my partial hearing loss made it difficult for me to locate the direction of the sound.

Click-tap-a-tap-clackity-tock-click-a-clack-tap...

Where was it coming from and what was it?

Clackity-clack-click-a-tap-tappity-click-clack..............tip-tap-a-clackity-clack-click...

It stopped a few seconds, then started again.

?

At last I saw what it was. A couple of birds were pecking at the remains of bugs stuck to the grille of the Rolling Steel Tent.

Hang around a while, my avian friends, and you can have some eggs, too.

The birds didn't want their pictures on the Web, so they flew away. The former bugs didn't complain.

It's no secret

I research potential campsites, routes, points of interest, discounts and whatnot online.

"There's this quiet, out-of-the-way location with a great view. And it's free."

"We learned of this place from a lady at the laundromat. Only the locals know about it."

And so on.

The thing is, if I can discover the info, so can anyone else who knows how to use Google. The secrets cease to be secrets once they go online. The quiet places become crowded. You make the combination of turns down dirt roads only to discover someone else is already there.

I suppose if I were a hacker I could delete the great finds or block anyone else's access to the info once I have it. Bwah-ha-ha. But maintaining this blog is about the extent of my computer skills. I'll just need to readjust my expectations. "Secret" is relative, somewhere on the scale between Previously Unknown to Humans, and Duh.

If there's a photo on the Web, someone has already been there

Where's an ill wind when you want one?

An ill wind blows good for someone one, right? But if there's no wind, then no one is benefitting. Particularly me.

There were nice winds up by the Sierras. They kept things cooler and blew some of the bugs away. The air is rather stagnant today in this part of Arizona. When the wind doesn't blow, it sucks.

Because I'm insane

The plan had been to cross the Sierras via Yosemite. From there I'd see a friend in Stockton and another in San Francisco. Then I'd mosey down the coast. That made sense, but, eh, I wasn't really feeling it.

Even though it's post-Labor Day weekend, getting a camping spot in Yosemite would require some hustling. And there are almost no free places to camp along the California coast.

I think I've had my temporary fill of mountains. After a while it all looks the same. Then there's the issue of getting enough of a clearing in the trees to make the solar panel happy. And there's the whole bear box thing. Oh, and the outrageous gas prices.

Then I read a friend's blog. I hadn't seen her since April. She has been dealing with some life challenges without much support. Presto, I had a new plan, a new direction. She's in Cottonwood, Arizona. That's where I knew I needed to go.

I figured as long as I was schlepping, I might as well swing by Yuma and cross the border to restock my medications. Even though it's usually the hottest place in the country. It was 112° today. Excellent timing, huh? Passing Imperial Dunes it was very easy to imagine myself in the Arabian Desert. Of course, there was no way I was going to try sleeping in the Rolling Steel Oven. I got a hotel room. I'll head off before sunrise to beat some of the heat. Cottonwood is 3,000 feet higher than Yuma, so it will be in the "balmy" mid-90s instead. Don't say goodbye to summer yet.

Waiting for the end of the long weekend

Today is head-for-home day for most of the people who've been in the Sierras the past week. I'm ready to move on as well. But I'll wait until tomorrow. Driving through Yosemite will be better after folks are gone. Camping areas at my destination will be cleared out. Gas prices might even be a bit lower. Hurray for the semiofficial end of summer.

A year later

I headed out on the road a year ago today. There was a little anxiety and second guessing about the big picture, some concerns about details. "Can I actually do this? Am I prepared? Can I adapt?"

There was also eagerness. I needed a change, an adventure. I needed new perspective.

It has been absolutely the right thing to do. For me.

I settled into it quickly, easily. Van dwelling has become totally natural. I'm excited again. I'm contented again.

My sincere thanks goes out to the van dwelling community. They showed me how it's done, how it's possible. Without their guidance I would have been clueless about basic things, like mail forwarding and camping free on public land. Thank you, thank you, thank you!

Family and friends have asked how long I'm going to be living this way. At the beginning, my answer was, "Until I'm not able to anymore." Now, having done this a year, the answer is, "Until I'm not able to anymore."

Claire

Claire is a hiker. So is her dog, Jeffery. When on the road they camp in her Suzuki SX4.

Crustaceans beware

The last of the well known hot springs in the Mammoth area is the Crab Cooker—so named because it gets exceptionally hot. At least sometimes. When I visited, the valve had been turned off a while and the water wasn't much more than body temperature.

There are two ways into the Crab Cooker and both are wretched. I'll give directions from Benton Crossing Road.

There are three cattle guards on Benton Crossing, starting with the one at the junction with US395, next to the little green church. Just before the third cattle guard there's a road on the left. (The right turn immediately after the same cattle guard takes you to Wild Willy's.) In case you lose count of cattle guards, it's about three miles from US395, the next left after the Whitmore Tubs Road fork.

The road is lumpy, bumpy and rocky. It might be less annoying to walk. After a while there's a road to the right that leads to the Crab Cooker. It's just as bad. There are a couple of small parking areas at the end of the road. (37°39'46"N, 118°48'0'W)

The path from the parking area to Crab Cooker

The stone and concrete tub is about ten by six feet and not much more than a foot deep.  It's not glamorous, but it's functional. The view is about the same as Wild Willy's.

The water valve is down in a flooded hole. As far as I know there's nothing in there that bites.

A few paces away is a concrete slab with a small chamber in the middle. It seems to be the source of the spring. It might also be a place one could actually boil crabs. Lower a pot on a chain, hook it to the grate, and go soak while dinner cooks. Maybe?

If it weren't for the awful access roads, its shallowness, the so-so view, a bit of litter and some cow pies, I'd rate Crab Cooker 4.75. Instead, I give it a 3.5 out of five. Really, the road is that terrible.

Another walk to water

Today I visited Crowley Hot Spring, also called Wild Willy's. While all the other hot springs have been on the west side of Benton Crossing Road, this on is east side. There are also two separate soaking holes here.

About three miles from the little green church you cross a cattle guard. Turn right immediately after. Follow this unpaved road a little over a mile to a large parking area. A long gravel path and boardwalk meanders to the springs. (37°39'6"N, 118°58'6"W)

Unlike the other springs I've visited in the Mammoth area, the pools at Wild Willy's/Crowley are just holes in the ground with mud banks and coarse sand bottoms. That means the water can be murky. Also, the hot water comes straight from the source. No pipes, no way to control it. You get what you get, which was sufficiently hot without being too hot when I was there.

The upper pool

The lower pool (not my photo because the pool was occupied by several people when I was there)

The upper pool is about ten feet across and slightly less than knee deep. The lower pool is maybe fourteen feet across and knee deep. It looks like it might have been dug out with a backhoe long ago. It's the largest pool I've seen in the area. Maybe that's why it has the reputation as a party spot. More people can soak at once. WOO!

Crowley Hot Spring/Wild Willy's wouldn't be my first or even third choice in the area. True, it's more natural than the others, which can be a big plus for some people. But I prefer my water clearer and to not have muddy feet when I'm done. I rate it 4.25 out of five.

The wrong way to Little Hot Creek

First, let me get the correct route out of the way:

Take Benton Crossing Road from the little green church at the junction of US395 to Whitmore Tubs Road (on the left).

Take Whitmore Tubs past Hot Creek Hatchery Road to Owens River Road (there's a sign) and turn left. You'll know you're on the correct road when you cross a small white bridge.

Take Owens River Road past Antelope Spring Road to Forest Road 3S138, which is the next road on the left. It's only a two-track dirt road but don't freak out. Follow it until you get to what looks like a hot spring on the left, across the creek. There's a wide spot in the road. There might be other vehicles parked there. (If you miss it and keep going, you come to a camping area a little further along where you can turn around.) 37°41'24"N, 118°50'27"W

Follow the path and planks over the creek to the tub. It's not technically a hot spring. The water for the tub comes from the creek, and the whole creek is hot. Very hot. Hence "Hot Creek."

If you take Antelope Spring Road as some online guides suggest, things will be nice and dandy until you reach the very gnarly and steep road that connects to Forest Road 3S138. It's closed November to April, anyway. Don't go that way if you don't need to. If you follow Google Maps to the GPS coordinates given in one of the online guides, you'll wander all over the place on some awful roads and never get anywhere near the right spot. (Ask me how I know, he said, rolling his eyes and smacking his head.) If you're coming from somewhere north of the airport, you could connect to Whitmore Tubs Road via Hot Creek Hatchery Road. Don't let the first miles of pavement fool you, though. It turns into the usual dirt and gravel.

So, about Little Hot Creek itself.

The planks across the creek. Also the pipe that feeds the tub.

It's set in a small valley (because that's where creeks tend to run) with views of, well, not much. The concrete tub is approximately ten feet by six feet and a little more than knee deep at one end. It can get very hot, but there's a valve to help adjust the temperature. There are a couple of decks for your stuff or your body.

It's a place to go if you want a developed hot spring but want to get away from the riffraff. Or from those who might want to harsh your mellow. Or from the law. With so many other springs closer to civilization, you have to really want to go here. My rating of Little Hot Creek is no doubt influenced by its inconvenience. To me it's not so amazing that it's worth the schlep. I give it 4 out of 5. Decks and very hot water keep me from rating it 3.5.

Whose campsite is it, part two

The cow in the previous post was just one of a herd of a hundred or so that spent the evening grazing around the Tub. That led to a damn-I-wish-I-had-my-camera-with-me moment.

I was alone in the Tub, watching evening settle on the mountains, sort of meditating, when one of the cows moseyed over to have a drink.

Well, howdy, ma'am. I remained still and observed.

Cows don't lap water like cats or dogs. They slurp. I learned that firsthand. From three feet away.

Having had her fill of warm human tea, she moved on.

Two other cows sidled up to the bar and drank. They slurped, too. I started wondering if the entire herd would be by for drinks. That could take a while. And leave me in an empty pool.

My ear itched. When I lifted my hand from the water the two cows spooked and ran off, thus ending my Attenborough moment.