Do the stroll

I was on the shuttle in Zion National Park. Many of my fellow passengers were decked out for a day of serious hiking. When the shuttle stopped, zoom, they were out the door, hustling to the trail with purpose and urgency.

Me? I stepped off, paused, looked around. The cliffs and peaks, the play of light, the contrast of bright green cottonwood leaves against orange stone and blue sky... I breathed the cool morning air, noting the variety of scents. Then I set off, at my own pace, in my own direction. First a visit to Weeping Rock.

Then, rather than heading up the canyon walls, I crossed the road and followed the narrow, unnamed footpath along the river. After all, the river is what made the canyon.

I had decided to keep things simple. I left my fancy camera behind and just used my iPhone.

My walk was peaceful. No crowds, no agenda. Just savor the day.

Then, because the conditions were right, I returned to that cliffside campsite that was too muddy before.

Beware of falling primates

I followed some online boondocking tips to a potential camping spot near Virgin, UT, not far from Zion National Park. It was raining heavily just to the north as I made my way down a dirt road with water-filled ruts and potholes. (It might have been a pothole farm.) But I made it this spot right on the rim of the Virgin River.

It was a great place, but what if the storm dumped more rain there? Would I be able to get back out? Better safe than sorry. So I splashed my way back to the highway and found a paved road heading toward the rim. There was a pullout with a nice dry gravel surface. It wasn't right on the rim, but it was just a short walk away. The storm cleared in a couple of hours and it looked like this.

That's Hurricane Mesa in the background. But most people call it Flying Monkey Mesa. Why? Well, back in the early days of jet-powered flight, the Air Force needed to test ejector seats. So they built a test facility atop Hurricane Mesa. It was far from prying/spying eyes, it was flat on top, and there was a 1,500 foot drop from the edge. Ejector seats were mounted to rocket propelled sleds and shot along a track. The seats were fired and the test dummies would float to the base of the mesa on parachutes. Once they had successful ejector seats, they needed to know what effects there might be on pilots. Rather than risk perfectly good humans, they substituted perfectly good chimpanzees. Hence, flying monkeys.

The track and the remains of the facility are still there, but sealed off from the curious public

While that explains the origin of Flying Monkey Mesa, it still leaves the mystery of why a mesa and town in the arid Southwest were named after a tropical storm. And, by the way, locals pronounce Hurricane as Hurrcun.

The Virgin River

I did not order rain

Interstate 15 through the Virgin River Gorge is quite dramatic. But I've been that way many times. And there's road construction. And lots of traffic. So this time I took Old Highway 91. It's a mellower drive.

Coming over the pass I got a gander at the storm clouds piled up over Saint George and eastward. As I got closer I could see that the front was just north of town and it was dumping rain/slush/snow on the higher elevations. Ah, May in the Rockies.

Corner to corner to corner

It's a travel day. (Oh, like when isn't it.) The weather gnomes have jiggled the levers, turned the knobs and flipped the switches. The forecast is good. So I'm going from the south corner of Nevada, through the northwest corner of Arizona, into the southwest corner of Utah. Now I'm just waiting for the sun to get high enough in the sky so that I won't be driving into glare. Zion, here I come.

Golden hour again

Na-na-na-na-na-na-na-na bats, man

It was eleven-something at night, the temperature was pleasant and I wasn't sleepy. So I sat outside and contemplated the lake. The lights from Laughlin and Bullhead City keep the sky from going completely dark. The air was still and the water was almost mirror flat.

Something small and dark flickered through my line of sight. Then again. And again. A bat. Or bats. Feeding in the zone between the water, trees and van. Figure eights, pretzel loops, sudden impossible changes of direction, sometimes missing me by only a foot or so. Bats on a mission. Gobbling as many insects as they could. I was just an inedible obstruction to be worked around. No danger to me. I thought, "Hey, guy(s), concentrate on getting all the mosquitoes right around me, please."

Donald and Daisy

Or maybe it's Daffy and Daphne. Or whomever. This pair of mallards have been hanging around the Rolling Steel Tent. At one point (when, rats, I didn't have a camera) they strolled up and parked themselves within reach while I sat in my chair. When I got up to get my camera they moved away a little and resettled, the female twisting her head and tucking her bill between her wings. (Would that be comfortable and restful if we humans could do that?)

Later, they wandered over to—and underneath—the van. I got wondering if they might be upset that I was on their turf. But they never made a fuss.

Can ducks give the stinkeye, and if so, is this it?

Maybe they were just fearless and trying to tell me, "Dude, you should be scared, because we're related to dinosaurs. You don't want us getting all T. Rex on your ass, do you?"

Another day, another lake

There I was, boondocking with a great view of Lake Mead, happy as a clam (and clams have assured me they are quite happy) when I decided to pick up and leave. Because more rain was forecast. Meanwhile, it would be dry and warmer a mere hour's drive south. So, off I went to Telephone Cove on Lake Mojave, about five miles from Laughlin, NV and Bullhead City, AZ.

As with Lakes Powell, Mead and Havasu, Lake Mojave is formed by a dam on the Colorado River. Unlike Powell and Mead, the water level in Mojave isn't alarmingly low. In fact, if it were much higher, the camping area at Telephone Cove would be under water. (More on that later).

With the weekend and weekenders coming, I wanted to get to Telephone Cove early enough to get a good spot. I did. By a tree, steps from the water. (Actual steps, like ten feet, not resort property copywriters' "steps.") The nearest camping neighbor was about a hundred yards away. Temperatures in the mid-to-high seventies, light breeze. Sweet.

As expected, others arrived throughout the day. And into the night. But I was mentally prepared for the encroachment. They were almost all tent campers, so no generators. The night was peaceful, even serene.

Then this morning, just as the sky was starting to lighten, there was a commotion outside. The group of campers next to me were hustling around, moving their tents and supplies. They were in a lower spot and the water level had risen enough to start flooding them out. I hate when that happens. They were nice people. They apologized for waking me. No problem. I know it's almost impossible to freak out and organize an evacuation silently.

This fire ring wasn't originally built touching the water

I was still high and dry, for the moment, but I decided to move anyway. That gave the evacuees a place to go. I hope they don't need to literally pull up stakes again.

I'll stay another day, keeping tabs on the weather reports to the north and east. I want to get to Zion National Park and onward to Page, Arizona during a favorable weather window. Weather weather weather. It's part of my love-hate relationship with spring. The desert needs the rain, I just don't want it on me. Or under the Rolling Steel Tent.

Morning on Lake Mead

It rained on and off yesterday and heavily during the night, but, as is so often the case, the morning dawned clear and beautiful.

I'm camped at Government Wash, a free boondocking area in sort of the west corner of Lake Mead. My first impression of the place a couple of years ago was, "Eh, just more RVs on dry, dusty, sun bleached desert." I didn't stay. But this time I followed a "road" out to the edge of the bluff where I could see the water. "Oh, this is much better."

If I'd wanted to ignore the No Camping Beyond This Point signs, I could have set up down by the water. But I left those primo spots for the anglers.

Meanwhile, the RV people are camped away from the water, where to road is better and there are large enough level spots. Too bad they aren't in vans so they have more options where they can park. They have the room, but I have the view.

Boondocking on the Strip

So, let’s say you’re a van dweller and a fan of Las Vegas. You want to catch a show, do some gambling, stuff yourself at an all-you-can-eat buffet. (Or you're passing through and just need a place to crash.) But you don’t want to pop for a hotel room or campground. 

If you’re half way stealthy and don’t mind a little noise (though probably less than your typical Walmart parking lot), you can take advantage of some of the hotel parking lots. Most are free, or are free most of the time.

Lots of overhead clearance on the ground level

I’ve used the parking decks behind the Luxor and New York New York. The ground levels have plenty of overhead clearance for even high-top vans with racks. I don’t know about the other parking decks, but I’m guessing they’re similar. 

Some of the uncovered parking behind Excalibur, for example

I’ve also used the uncovered lot behind Bally’s and Paris Las Vegas without any problems. There are similar uncovered lots behind places like the Flamingo, Harrah’s and Excalibur. 

The uncovered lots are good for solar users, of course, unless it's hot. If you want the shade and enclosed feeling of a parking deck, you can go somewhere else during daylight hours to charge your batteries.

Of course, the standard stealth camping guidelines apply. Keep a low profile. However, the Strip is pretty much a 24-hour place, so going to and from your vehicle in the middle of the night (maybe to use a casino restroom) doesn’t look out of place. Security guys might roll by with flashing lights, but they’re looking for thieves, not people sleeping in vehicles. 

And remember, what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas. Or ends up on a blog.

Priorities

If it were me, I'd pitch the tents under the shelter and leave the motorcycles out in the rain.

Hurray for rocks

I can't pass through the Las Vegas/Lake Mead area without going to Valley of Fire State Park. The campgrounds are right up in the red sandstone. Arches, bubbly holes, caves and other weird formations. And oddballs like me.

Zorro the Wonder Dog goes cave shopping

An illuminating field trip

The city's park next to the museum

When I first went to the Neon Museum a few years ago, it was still under construction. The former lobby of the La Concha motel was being reassembled and the sign collection was all in the "boneyard" across the street. Now the museum is all set up. The collection has been pared down a bit and organized.

Ironically, only a percentage of the signs are neon. But some are restored and operational for the nighttime tours.

Sometimes the jumble of signs looks like an acid trip shared by Robert Cottingham and Roy Lichtenstein.

Too bad I can't take this one with me

A little something for the Rolling Steel Tent

I've paid more for campsites

It's not my fault Las Vegas is situated between where I was and where I'm headed. So I got a really cheap room at New York New York. I can take as many showers as I want and use the wifi to binge-watch some TV shows I've read about but never seen.

Part of my view

And, you know, it's a break from the routine. Glitz! Noise! Fantasy! Crowds! Variety! Hot running water! Flushing toilets! Less dirt! Fewer bugs! One night, then it's back to the road, wide open spaces and good old reality.