Stopping at an old haunt

I can't pass through southern New Mexico without spending at least a night at City of Rocks State Park.

As clean as a truck driver

When I say "truck stop," some people scrunch up their faces and give a silent, "Ewww." They are usually suburbanites imagining a place populated by oily, dirty, smelly blue collar guys hopped up on amphetamines, with female junkies turning tricks in the parking lot. So when I say "truck stop shower" they gag and imagine oily, dirty, smelly, damp closets covered in soap scum, body hair, diseases and other unspeakable horrors.

This is because they've never been to a truck stop. Or they didn't know they had because it was called a "travel center" and it looked like a large gas station/convenience store/fast food restaurant complex. With semis in back. And it's because they've never even knew there were showers to be had.

Well, for the truck stop shower virgins out there, this one at the Flying J in Lordsburg NM is very typical.

Clean, modern, well lit, roomy, private. I've used health club showers and hotel bathrooms that don't measure up. Attendants clean up, mop up and disinfect between customers. They supply fresh towels, wash cloths and mats. The stalls are about six feet by four feet. There's usually all the water pressure and hot water you could want. The shower heads usually have at least two settings. There's no time limit. Bathe until you get wrinkly. It sure beats anything anyone has in a van or RV. It even beats some people's houses.

I prefer the showers at Flying J and Pilot travel centers. (They're the same company.) The towels at Love's tend to be thin and scratchy. I've used the showers at only one T/A truck stop. I have no particular memories, so it must have been okay. Sometimes the showers are on the old side, but I think the companies have programs to modernize them, because I've gone back to a couple of places and was surprised with renovations.

Sometimes you'll have to wait your turn for a shower. Other times you can get in immediately. Pro drivers get loyalty cards and earn free showers. The rest of us have to pay. Usually. Sometimes the clerk, surprised you don't have a loyalty card, will take pity and give you a shower free. Sometimes a trucker behind you in line will offer to put it on his/her loyalty card because they've earned more showers than they could ever use.

Eleven to twelve bucks might be a hit on your budget. I do sponge baths most of the time and truck stop showers every two or three weeks. They're a treat, like pizza or ice cream. But not fattening.

Last call

Bowie, Arizona

This was once a bar. Or a restaurant. Or a restaurant and bar. Now it's only another of the crumbling teepee buildings scattered around the West. This is what happens when you appropriate other cultures' stuff. However, I think we could use a lot more oddly shaped buildings. Anyone can do boxes. Give us more giant teapots, colossal ducks, office buildings shaped like binoculars. That will make America great again.

I don't think they mean naan

I stopped for the night at Indian Bread Rocks near Bowie, Arizona. Nice place. Free. Great for bouldering. That's a little snow on the far peak.

As soon as the sun is high enough in the sky so it's not shining in my eyes, I'll continue on eastward.

The thing about The Thing?

If you've traveled Interstate 10 between Tucson and Las Cruces, you've seen the hundreds of billboards for The Thing? (always with a question mark). Yes, it's a tourist trap. But in the grand sense, it's so much more.

The Thing? isn't just a small, threadbare, not-all-that-interesting museum attached to a gas station, Dairy Queen and souvenir store. It's conceptual art. It's the totality of it. It's the name and the marketing and all those billboards. It's a chunk of American highway culture. It's knowing The Thing? is hokey and disappointing and you drive past because you're too smart. Or it's stopping anyway because you know it's hokey and disappointing but that things like The Thing? have a certain cheesy, kitchy, stupid entertainment value. And it's only a buck. And you needed to use a bathroom anyway.

I was swallowed by a snake

There's a bicycle and pedestrian bridge in downtown-ish Tucson that's shaped like a giant Diamond Back Rattlesnake. A marriage of function and whimsy.

At one end you pass between the fangs. At the other end is the rattle and a motion sensor that triggers the playing of a rattling sound. This could've been just another nondescript bridge, but someone had an idea and the people paying for it said, "Yeah! Let's do it!"

Artist: Simon Donovan. Engineering: T. Y. Lin International. Contractor: Hunter Contraction Co.

Two signs it's less wintery

Of course, winter in the lower parts of Arizona is downright summery compared to places that have real winters. That said, it has warmed up a little more. On the positive side, I can drive with the window open. Mmmmmm, yes. On the negative side, some type of bug is out and about, dining on me. Uhhhhh, no. Oh well. Can't have everything.

Ostrich and stingrays and goats, oh my

Back before I hit the road for good (or evil) I discovered RoadsideAmerica.com. Cool! All sorts of interesting, weird, historical, hysterical things to see. And some disappointing ones, too. I haven't made much use of it over the past three-plus years, but I know the Lone Star State has more than its share of oddities. So I did some research before this trek through southern Arizona, New Mexico and Texas.

My first stop was Rooster Cogburn Ostrich Ranch near Tucson. It's next to Picacho Peak State Park, so you could do a double header if you were so inclined. The ranch is a nicely done petting zoo, but since the ostriches are raised for meat, leather and feathers, it's not a good place for vegans or animal rights activists.

But it's not just ostriches.

Miniature Sicilian Donkeys

A bunch of Budgies

Goats that like to stick their heads through holes to be fed

Stingrays that only want you for your squid

Rainbow Lorikeets that swarm you for nectar

What elevates (literally and figuratively) Rooster Cogburn Ostrich Farm above your average petting zoo is the 800 horsepower, twenty-one passenger monster truck.

Hmmmm, it wouldn't take much to make this beast livable

Oh, sure, they could take you on a tour around the property and give a nature talk about the Sonoran Desert from inside docile tram. But that's too predictable and insufficiently bad ass. And it's more fun this way for our guide, Greg.

The eastward journey begins

I had been in Ehrenberg, Arizona, to drop off some videos I edited. It was the last bit of something I had to take care of before heading to Texas. After a slow start and a nice shower at the Flying J, I made the easy two-hour drive to Buckeye Hills Regional Park—my usual camping spot in the greater Phoenix area. It's free, uncrowded and sufficiently quiet (after the shooting range closes for the day).

Tomorrow it's another easy drive to Tucson, or maybe farther. I haven't done any long distance driving in a while. Can I break the two-hour barrier? Or should I even try. There's no rush.

Pet sharing

Savanna pays a visit to the Rolling Steel Tent

Invasive species

Hal and Lou had an attack of artiness while I was away at RTR and made these "trees" from stuff they found in the desert. Sticks, rocks, cans, pipes, bones, ornamental iron, toys... Perhaps future archeologists and anthropologists will try to make sense of it. And they'll fail.

And then there was one

Lou had hitched the trailer to his truck yesterday evening, and he was up packing things away before the sun had risen above the hills. The ophthalmologist had said he was good to go, so he was going.

I'll be going, too, after I finish breakfast, blogging and general farting around. First north to Ehrenberg and Quartzsite to drop off some edited videos, then onward to Texas.

Lou and I will see each other again this summer, in Colorado, for a friend's wedding. And chances are our paths will cross sometime before then. We don't know where or when, but it usually just happens.

Doing the time warp again

Days of the week have become less relevant since I've retired. They've become even less relevant since I'm living out on the fringes of regular society. I have to remember when certain businesses and services are open or closed, but beyond that? Eh.

Sometimes, though, I feel a little like Billy Pilgrim of Slaughterhouse-Five. Unstuck in time. It's not that I have flashbacks or think I'm being held in an alien zoo. It's just that everything feels like it should be a different day of the week.

Each of the past five days have felt exactly like Sunday. Not going-to-church Sunday or watching-football Sunday. Just things-are-shut-down-and-quiet Sunday. It felt that way today as I drove to the post office to pick up my forwarded mail. Even though I knew it was Tuesday, a business day, it felt wrong. Part of my brain was saying, "The post office isn't open on Sundays." The traffic didn't feel like workday traffic. The comings and goings of people didn't feel like a workday either. The light, the angle of the sun, the smell of the air, the sounds (or lack thereof). It all told me it was Sunday.

I know it's because I have no weekly routine and that I'm around people who also have no weekly routine. Even my daily routine is very loose. And my sleep schedule is all over the place. Does this mean I need more structure in my life? Oh man, I hope not.

Seven minus five

For the past month (except for the time I went off to the Rubber Tramp Rendezvous), seven friends have been camped together here off Ogilby Road, near the Algodones Dunes. Now there's just Lou and I. And only for a few more days. Then we'll head in different directions. Loretta and Hal rolled out this morning. Lora and Scott left Sunday, as did Jo.

Even though I'm over on the reclusive end of the scale, and even though I spent a lot of time alone in the Rolling Steel Tent, I still like having friends around. I never know when I'm going to have a sudden attack of sociability.

Leading weather indicators

You can tell it was officially a warm day because:

Lou broke out the shorts

I was barefoot on the "porch"

Lou and Hal were playing music outside as the sun set

The doors were open on the Rolling Steel Tent