Wait, this looks familiar

The temperatures are forecast to drop to levels that make me whine and mope, so I bid temporary farewell to the gang at Buckeye Hills Regional Park and returned to the Ogilby Road area west of Yuma.

Jo and Lou will join me in a couple of days. In the meantime, I need to scout for a spot that will suit our needs. Large enough, private enough, quiet enough, no tricky access for Lou's trailer, good cell signal... Some shelter from the winds that will be coming would be nice, but not likely. Barring that, we'd at least like to avoid dust in that wind.

Afternoon jam at Club Lou

Michael croons while Lou noodles

Let there be lights

I don't drive much at night anymore. I don't have a night vision problem. I'm not anxious about what might happen in the dark. It's just that I'm usually settled into a camping spot well before nightfall. There's rarely a need to drive at night. However, the likelihood of me driving at night increases in winter when daylight hours are short.

Since I don't drive much at night, I seldom need to turn on the headlights. That means I haven't developed the unconscious muscle memory of reaching for the light switch. I still fumble around, turning on the interior light or knocking the air vent askew.

GM engineers and stylists haven't made it any easier. They put the switch low on the dash, down out of my peripheral vision, where the steering wheel blocks my view.

I suppose it's my "fault" that most of my vehicles had headlight switches on stalks by the steering wheel. And maybe I got a little spoiled by a car with automatic headlights.

Welcome to the 20th Century School of Automotive Engineering

But, what can I do about it? Like so many less-than-ideal things in life, I'll adapt. I'll get used to it—sometime before that future day when the Rolling Steel Tent heads to the scrapyard. Unless I beat it there.

An actual book?

Jo asked if I'd read the Jimmy Buffett book "about turning fifty."

"A Pirate Looks at Fifty?" I replied. "I've read one of his others, but not that one."

"I'm finished with it. Do you want it?"

"Sure."

She stepped into her camper and came out with a hardback. Wow. A hardback. About an inch and a quarter thick. About 450 pages. Maps inside the covers. Serious bookness. Especially after reading e-books the past couple of years. I hefted it. Considered it.

"Until I get around to reading it, I guess I could use it to prop up something."

Health report

Lou is coming down with something. Or he's getting rid of the thing he'd come down with. I haven't checked with him yet this morning for an update.

His condition got me thinking about my health over the past two and a half years that I've been living and traveling in the Rolling Steel Tent. I had some bronchial congestion somewhere along the way, and maybe a fever or two. But no flu—at least not that I remember. I think that's because I spend way less time in crowds. I'm less likely to catch something if there's no one to pass it along. Ah, the health benefits of reclusiveness.

Back in pre-van days I started having little attacks of vertigo. If I turned my head after being in bed a while, the room would start spinning. WooOOooo! Sometimes it would happen if I got out of bed quickly. That stopped happening.

In my pre-van days I developed a case of trigger finger. The middle finger of my right hand started locking up. But the trigger finger has gone away.

My left knee has gotten worse, though. The muscles, tendons, ligaments or whatever complain when I go up stairs, and they try to give out on me when I go down stairs. Good thing there aren't that many stairs in my life these days. But the knee calls attention to itself when I climb in and out of the van.

My eyesight has been holding steady.

The tinnitus and my partial hearing loss don't seem to have gotten any worse. But deterioration could be so gradual that I don't notice.

I've gained a few pounds. I need to nap less and walk more.

Fortunately, I can live this vagabond life without the limitations of a chronic disease. Knock on wood. Though my father and I didn't get along all that well, and we had totally different approaches to life, I seem to have inherited some of his good health genes. He had no medical problems, other than his appendix, until he was in his 80s. All the fresh air and sunshine I'm getting might help, too. Somewhere down the road my health won't allow me to do this anymore. In the meantime, roll on. Or walk on.

Local flora

RoadPro oven survey

Lou noticed that his RoadPro oven didn't seal completely, that there was a hairline gap between the seals in front and in back. With the lid properly aligned and the latch firmly snapped, we could see daylight when we held the oven just so.

We compared his oven to Jo's. Hers had no gap. Then we compared it to mine. It has a gap.

Hmmmm.

Had there always been a gap on ours? Was it a bad production run? Or had it changed over time? Was it that Jo's oven was new and ours were a couple of years old? Plastic + heat = warpage?

So, dear readers and owners of RoadPro ovens, how old is yours, how often do you use it, and does it have a gap?

Surprised bush

It didn't expect to see me here

In the wash

Animal, human and vehicle tracks in the sand

Looking back, but not going back

It was the day to bid a happy farewell to the house I'd just unloaded sold. The new sucker owner would take possession the next day. Between eBay, charities and dumpsters I had gotten rid of all my possessions except what I thought would be absolutely necessary for my new nomadic life. Here's everything that made the cut, loaded haphazardly into the van.

Bags and bags of clothing... artwork... a 21" monitor... pottery... power tools... books...

I thought, "There won't be enough room even when this is all arranged neatly. I mean, I still need to fit a mattress in here somehow."

But I thinned the pile—several times—and now about 80% of it is gone. And I don't miss any of it. (Except sometimes the art.)

That was two and a half years ago, but it seems much longer. Not just since that day I drove away from the money pit house, but also since I started the journey away from that guy I used to be, who used to think "my necessities" had a much wider. deeper definition.

Chet meets Chip

Last week I was driving south from Quartzsite in Highway 95. A pickup and a Class A RV came the other way and SMACK! A dime-sized chip in the windshield I replaced a year ago. Chet thinks it's funny. He can be a jerk sometimes.

Buddies working on Buddies

You know how we guys are. Gotta have a project. So today Lou and I cleaned the pilot nozzles on two Mr. Heater Portable Buddies.

There are two ways to do this. One is a simple way recommended by Mr. Heater, and it's probably the thing to do once or twice during heater season as a preventive measure.

The second way might be necessary if your Portable Buddy is several seasons old, you've never cleaned the pilot nozzle, and the thing refuses to light (even though you're below 7,000 feet elevation).

Since the second method requires more disassembly/reassembly, two metric wrenches, decent manual dexterity and a feel for mechanical things, we decided to try the simple way first. (Not that we don't have those things. We just didn't want that big of a project.)

My heater is older, so there was some crud on the Q-tip when I swabbed the nozzle (which is not intended as a raunchy euphemism, though you're free to use it that way). The Q-tip came out clean on the heater Lou was working on. Now we're set to go. Hot time tonight!

Back at Buckeye Hills

After checking the forecasts for winds and overnight lows, Lou and I decided to meet up at Buckeye Hills Regional Park. Again. We liked it before, and it's still good.

It's free, it's scenic, it's quiet, and it's handy to the stores and services in Buckeye (the farthest western suburb of Phoenix).

We'll be here a while. Perhaps occasional field trips to Phoenix will satisfy my wanderlust. We'll see. In the meantime, I'll just enjoy it.

It wasn't me, either

What is this place?

Driving I-8 west out of Yuma, after crossing the Colorado River and passing through the California agricultural checkpoint, there's a freestanding spiral staircase, a small church on a hill, a pyramid and a sign that proclaims Museum of History in Granite.

I had driven past it several times, assuming it was something a stone products trade association had created. "Look how important granite has been throughout time." Okay, whatever.

But I figured the spiral staircase would make an interesting photo. A symbol of uncompleted plans, of philosophies that sound good but lead nowhere, of a stairway to heaven. So this time I pulled off the freeway to check things out.

I discovered the operative word is history, not granite. It's the continuing project of French-American paratrooper/investment banker/author/historian/mayor Jaques-André Istel.

Long, low granite monuments are engraved with highlights of the history of the universe, of humanity (up to about 800BCE so far), of the United States, of Arizona and California, of the French Foreign Legion, and of aviation. It's also a memorial to Marines who died in the Korean War. Sort of an eclectic mix.

I'm all for literacy

The pyramid marks the official Center of the World (as recognized by Imperial County and the French government). It was inspired by children's book written by Istel, Coe, the Good Dragon at the Center of the World.

I guess I've been everywhere now

The door of the church is exactly the same color as the sky—at least on this day

Oh, the spiral staircase? It was from the Eiffel Tower and removed during an early structural renovation. Now I know.