As far as you can go without getting wet

I strolled the Riverside Walk today in Zion Canyon. It's a trail from the Temple of Sinawava to the beginning of the Narrows. From there on one wades in the Virgin River. Maybe next time.

Some non-wimps head up river

I wasn't a total loser, though. I departed from the paved trail where I could and walked along the edge of the river. That should count for something, right?

Ranger Holly

Ranger Holly explained desert varnish to me. It's caused by manganese-oxidizing microbes. Essentially microbe poo.

Desert varnish is the shiny black stuff.

A little stroll in the park

Well, actually, it was a hike up the Canyon Overlook Trail in Zion National Park.

Making things not happen

The Rolling Steel Tent's big cabinet is held together by rivets. But with all the bumpy dirt roads I've been on, and with 140 pounds of deep cycle batteries exerting their forces on the shelves, some of the rivets broke. So I replaced them with bolts.

It feels good (and manly) to solve mechanical problems. I spent a few moments admiring my work. "Look at those bolts, nice and tight thanks to my impact wrench, holding the cabinet together. Argh!"

That got old after a while, because there was nothing to watch, just a thing not falling apart.

Then there was a different problem, a tiny annoyance to rid myself of. When the door or window is open, and the wind is blowing, my paper towels tend to unravel. Then I had an idea.

Perfect

The Flintstones were here. Or the Rubbles.

Someone had made these lovely chairs for sitting by the fire

Oh, come on! It's the middle of May!

The weekend storm here in southwest Utah dumped snow at higher elevations. Craziness.

Improvization

What do you do when the camping area you planned on using has a locked gate? And it's the weekend? Near a very popular park? You look at the map and say, "Maybe there's something over here." And sometimes you get lucky.

This is the imaginatively named North Creek, near Virgin, Utah, west of Zion National Park. I'm camped a few steps from it. This is better than the place that was locked.

However, it started to rain a little after dark. That meant checking the water level several times during the night to make sure I wasn't flooded out. But things were okay—except for the missed sleep.

It was a beautiful day before the rain came

A pariah on the Paria

One advantage of the van dwelling life is that plans can change. Rapidly.

Judy and Bob are headed to Alaska, and the first part of their trek goes through the same parts of the country I'd planned on covering. So I decided to tag along for a while. I can stick with them or peel off on my own.

That's how I ended up camped with them on the banks of the Paria River, between Page, AZ and Kanab, UT. Those familiar with the area know it's the gateway to Buckskin Gulch and The Wave. But we were just passing through. I'll come back some day and put my name in for the permit lottery. We just mellowed out in the shade of a cottonwood tree instead.

There was a pleasant aroma in the air, like warm, dry wood. Not resinous wood, like pine. I thought it might be the cottonwood, so I sniffed it closely. Nope. Something else upwind. Maybe it was the soil. I wish I could have taken whatever it was with me.

The North American Rubber Pine

Actual color

Slightly less happiness at this party

Ten things

Way back in a college psychology class I had an assignment to make a list of the ten things I would grab if my apartment were on fire. I didn't own much of anything back then, but I did have a fondness for the few things I had. I was also rather broke, and didn't have renter's insurance, so replacing anything would have been a burden.

Years later I had money and a lot of stuff. The idea of grabbing only ten things would have freaked me out if I'd given it any thought.

Lesa and I we were discussing minimal van dwelling needs yesterday. Could I live in a minivan instead of a full-size van? What about in a car? A bicycle? A backpack? She said there were people who believed they should own no more than 100 things. That discussion, and the van that caught fire the other day, reminded me of the ten things assignment.

What ten things would I grab from the Rolling Steel Tent?

1. Wallet
2. Passport
3. Laptop (because of info that's on it)
4. Eyeglasses (because I need to be able to read)
5.
6.
7.
8.
9.
10.

Everything else is replaceable.

What would be on your list?

Near Flagstaff again

The last time I passed through Flagstaff was October. There was snow on the ground with more coming, which is nature's way of telling me, "Get out of here!"

I've returned (briefly) to bid bon voyage to Judy, Bob and canine companion Homer before they take off on their months-long schlep to Alaska and back.

Their chore before leaving Friday is to figure out which of their individual possessions they'll need to take and then to fit it into one van instead of their usual two vans and a trailer. It will be cozy.

Back in her single years, a friend said it had been her experience that whenever she and whomever she was dating at the moment would travel together they'd end up breaking up for some reason shortly after. In fact, when one boyfriend suggested a trip, she quipped, "Nah, I don't want us to break up yet." I've known several relationships and marriages that were strained by travel. So I'll watch and see what happens with Bob and Judy. And cross my fingers.

One reason I don't cook in my van

This was yesterday, in Cottonwood, AZ, in the Walmart parking lot. My heart goes out to this van's owner.

It looks like the fire was concentrated about where a stove or microwave would be. It might have been an electrical fire. I can't say. But the risk of fire is high enough that I don't use any sort of flame in the Rolling Steel Tent. I cook outside or not at all. (Hurray for sandwiches.)

Even without fire danger, I don't want food smells lingering in the van. I don't want splatters or steam. I don't want additional heat in warm weather.

Other van dwellers cook in their vehicles all the time with no problems. I imagine these folks had no problems, too. Until yesterday.

They call the wind #@|¿X*!

I'm in the middle of binge-reading Elmore Leonard's westerns. Most of the stories are set in the Arizona desert. For all the details he includes, he never mentions the wind, even though it's an annoying, even destructive, fact of life in the desert.

If Leonard hadn't died a little while ago, and if he'd still been cranking out formulaic westerns, I'd write him to complain.

"Dude, think of the local color and plot devices a good wind storm could provide. The hero is not only leathery from the heat and sun, but he's also sandblasted... Bad guys disappearing into a dust cloud... People not only dying of dehydration, but also choking on sand... Stage coaches being blown over..."

I guess I need to write my own stories. Let's see, I could start with a ruggedly handsome loner nomad exploring the Sonoran desert in a converted van...