Tamales!

Somerton is a small agricultural town south of Yuma, about nine miles from the border. I learned about their annual tamale festival too late last year. I made a point of going this year, because I love tamales.

I'm not the only one who loves a good tamal

There must have been thirty different tamale vendors. Where to start? Look for the ones with the longest lines. And the trophies.

Absolutely the best tamales I've ever had

While I've had elote (sweet corn) tamales before (very nice), I wasn't aware of other sweet variations, like raisin-cinnamon and pineapple. I'll have something new to try next year.

I arrived just as they were announcing the results of the tamale eating contest. The winner packed away twelve in less than three minutes, beating the reigning champion by one.

Last year's champ (left) congratulates the beast who beat him

And I guess nothing goes with tamales like belly dancing.

Tis the season

It's that time of year we voluntary minimalists are supposed to put on the itchy robes of self-righteousness, condemn rampant consumerism and preach the gospel of Less is More.

"Americans buy things to fill the void in their meaningless lives yadda yadda yadda..."

"Free yourselves from the slavery of stuff, move to your inner Waldon and get in touch with your yearning soul blah blah true happiness blah blah blah..."

"Central heating and indoor plumbing are of the devil!"

You're converted, right?

Yawn.

I'll let The Tubes sing it for me:

What do you want from life?

To kidnap an heiress or threaten her with a knife

What do you want from life?

To get cable TV and watch it every night

There you sit, a lump in your chair

Where do you sleep and what do you wear when you're sleeping?

What do you want from life?

An Indian guru to show you the inner light

What do you want from life?

A meaningless love affair with a girl that you met tonight

How can you tell when you're doin' alright?

Does your bank account swell while you're dreaming at night?

How do know when you're really in love?

Do violins play when you're touching the one that you're loving?

What do you want from life?

Someone to love and somebody that you can trust

What do you want from life?

To try and be happy while you do the nasty things you must

Well, you can't have that, but if you're an American citizen you are entitled to:

a heated kidney shaped pool, 

a microwave oven--don't watch the food cook, 

a Dyna-Gym--I'll personally demonstrate it in the privacy of your own home, 

a king-size Titanic unsinkable Molly Brown waterbed with polybendum, 

a foolproof plan and an airtight alibi, 

real simulated Indian jewelry, 

a Gucci shoetree,

a year's supply of antibiotics, 

a personally autographed picture of Randy Mantooth 

and Bob Dylan's new unlisted phone number,

a beautifully restored 3rd Reich swizzle stick,

Rosemary's baby,

a dream date in kneepads with Paul Williams, 

a new Matador, a new mastodon, 

a Maverick, a Mustang, a Montego, 

a Merc Montclair, a Mark IV, a Meteor, 

a Mercedes, an MG, or a Malibu, 

a Mort Moriarty, a Maserati, a Mac truck,

a Mazda, a new Monza, or a moped, 

a Winnebago--Hell, a herd of Winnebago's we're giving 'em away,

or how about a McCulloch chainsaw, 

a Las Vegas wedding, 

a Mexican divorce, 

a solid gold Kama Sutra coffee pot, 

or a baby's arm holding an apple

Can I get an amen?

Local flora

I can see clearly now

Part of the crack

A crack had been spreading across my windshield for a few months. I hadn't gotten it replaced before because I'd never stayed very long in any town large enough to have auto glass shops. But I'm in Yuma for a while. Plenty of places here to get the windshield fixed.

I had also avoided the repair because of the cost. Or what I imagined it would be—five or six hundred dollars. Maybe more. I was feeling rich, though, and ready to bite the bullet.

I did a search for auto glass places and found one with high customer ratings, including praises for their low prices compared to others in the area. So I went to Novus Auto Glass for an estimate.

"One ninety-seven sixty-three," said the lady.

"For the whole ball of wax?" I replied, incredulous.

"Well, two thirteen twenty-two, with tax."

"Cool." Very cool.

I was at the shop bright and early today. The painful, ugly part was watching them power chisel the old glass out. And there was a bit of thumping on a wiper that didn't want to come off.

Can't go anywhere like that

Farewell, old windshield

But everything went well, even if it did take longer than they expected. They had to wait for their tubes of windshield adhesive to warm up in the sun so it would be soft enough to come out of the tube. I guess they don't store the stuff inside. Doh.

There we go!

It has been a long time since I've looked through a virgin windshield. Not only are there no cracks and chips, but also no water marks, wiper streaks or bug guts. That's just not normal.

I like water

Baggage claim

Back in February, someone left shoes at the Fortuna Pond dumpster. Today, someone left the case to carry them in.

It color coordinates with the dumpster, but not my decor

A return to the oasis

Fortuna Pond, near Yuma Arizona

One day the temperature is just fine. The next day it's two degrees cooler, but still tolerable. The third day the temperature has dropped another two degrees and suddenly it feels like it's freezing (even though it's in the 50s).

Four degrees isn't all that much, right? But sometimes it feels like a world of difference. After all, water is still liquid at 33 degrees, but, presto, one degree colder and it's a solid.

Some mornings I can get out of bed and the coolness is invigorating. Then the next morning, when it's a couple of degrees cooler, I need to break out the heater to keep my fingers from solidifying. That's when I move to Yuma, where it's three to five degrees warmer. And where there's a nice pond.

War and peace

I don't remember how many trips I've made on US95 between Quartzsite and Yuma, but, each time, I think about stopping to take pictures of these two things. As you can see, I finally did. No need to be impulsive.

Huge erect phalluses at the entry to Yuma Proving Grounds

Our Lady of the Kale Field microchurch

Fashion week in Quartzsite

Follow me into the desert, my people
(Photo by Donna Cabral)

What does one do with an Ikea duvet cover one no longer needs? An option is to have one's sister modify it into a very comfy robe type thing. Then one would be all set for Burning Man. Of for just lounging around and confirming to one's friends that one is a little, um, different.

Stay put

I made a trip to Blythe today. The excuse was that I needed some supplies and wanted to check out the new Smart & Final Extra. Really, though, I just got antsy.

The key to economical van dwelling is to not drive much. I didn’t do a very good job of that my first year on the road. I logged over 40,000 miles zigging and zagging all over the West. Even when I stayed in Slab City a month and Truckee three weeks, I would make unnecessary runs to town.

The actual traveling part of this traveling life satisfies something in me that staying in one place doesn’t. As they say, it’s about the journey—or the journeying. It’s not simply a need to see what’s around the next bend, and then the next one. Even making yet another run to Blythe or Yuma or wherever starts the natural happiness chemicals flowing. It’s like my molecules don’t care where they’re going as long as they’re being transported across the planet.

A friend commented the other day that I’m always taking off for somewhere. “I need to make up for decades of staying put,” I quipped. There’s probably a good chunk of truth in that.

I gotta go.

Burning the evidence

Most of the latest mail delivery ended up in the wastebasket. Then I had second thoughts. It contained personal and financial information. So I fished out the papers, took them to the nearest fire ring and, with water jug in hand, made an offering to the gods of information security.

Where are the sand worms?

The day I arrived at Slab City, I notified my mail forwarding service I wanted the month's pile sent general delivery to Niland, the closest post office. It hadn't arrived by the time I wanted to head to Quartzsite. Stay and wait, or go then return for it? Naturally, I chose the one that involved the most driving.

It wasn't all a silly 260-mile round trip slog. The Imperial Dunes are between here and there. I took some shots on the way back.

Pet sharing again

The Rolling Steel Tent must have a canine-friendly vibe. Friends' dogs keep dropping by to chill for a while.

Chet-mas is coming

Chet got his tree today. He can scarcely wait to decorate it. He hopes Santa will bring him an itty-bitty car to ride in parades. His previous one got sucked up by the vacuum.

Now with 31% less disorder

I'd originally had other plans for the righthand compartment of the cabinet I built. Instead, it became storage for things like paper towels, toilet paper, cereal and spaghetti sauce. That meant unstacking things to get what I wanted, or restacking things after they tumbled from the motion of the van. And some things just don't stack well. Potato chips, for example.

Before

"I need to add shelves," I told myself.

"But you don't have a saw," I replied.

Well, one of the advantages of meeting up with other members of the van dweller tribe is that someone (usually Mark) will have the necessary tools. And the inclination to help. What could have been days of fumbling became a painless two-hour job—with most of that time devoted to measuring (twice, of course) and painting.

After

Don't get me wrong. I'm not so self-serving and opportunistic that I get together with friends only when I need favors. Or someone else's cooking. It's a great side benefit, though. And I pay the kindness forward when I can. What do you need?