What’s ahead?

When in doubt about the condition of a dirt road, the standard practice (if you don’t have a drone) is to get out and check. Walk ahead, see what’s up. Does it get worse? How much worse? Is the hoped-for destination worth the risks along the way?

One of the things I look for is signs other vehicles have passed that way recently. Are there fresh or semi-fresh tread marks in the dirt? What kind of treads? Street tires, or only gnarly off-road ones?

Bad photo of recent tire marks—a good sign

I was walking one of those roads earlier today. There were lumps and bumps but totally doable in just about anything other than a sports car. But then I came to a spot where someone had made a multi-point about-face, digging ruts in the soft ground on either side. Someone hadn’t wanted to go farther.

Just beyond, the road tilted steeply to one side—steeply enough to put the fear of tipping in ya, especially if you’re driving a tall vehicle. There was also a risk of high centering. There was no way around the tilt.

I knew I didn’t want to try taking the Rolling Steel Tent through there, but I continued walking along, just to see what there was to see. That’s when I noticed the tracks had an undisturbed layer of dead pine needles and other bits. No one had driven this way in a long time. That told me all I needed to know.

Undisturbed pine needles in the ruts

While I was out driving around...

I pulled into a rest stop on I-10, between Lordsburg and Deming NM, to avail myself of the restroom. There was a lush ocotillo covered in blossoms, so I made a short video. After I peed.

Singing the blues

Lou recorded this song a couple of years ago, singing and playing both guitar parts. Today he asked me to put it on the interwebs. Here it is.

Bare handed

A little over a year ago I bought a box of fifty nitrile gloves to wear while working with greasy things. “Fifty? I’ll never need that many. Don’t they have smaller packages?”

Well, thanks to the virus, I used a lot of those gloves in just the past couple of months. I’m all out. I’ve been trying to get more, but all the stores around this rather small town are out of them. Walmart, pharmacies, auto parts stores, hardware stores…

At Harbor Freight I asked when they expected their next shipment. “It was supposed to be today, but the truck got cancelled. So next Thursday, I guess.”

Lack of disposable gloves at Harbor Freight

Hmmm, what about food service gloves? The closest supplier is in Albuquerque. It costs about $45.00 to have a $3.50 box shipped (which is close to what it would cost in gas to go pick them up myself).

I posted about my glove hunt on Facebook and my friends/family suggested other sources. But one friend (who’s really more of a friend of my former wife, who is still a good friend) messaged me.

I have a bunch of gloves I could mail to you. I got them from Sally’s Beauty supply. If you give an address, I’ll send a bunch to you! Be well.

There are good people out there.

Meanwhile, I’m wearing my fleece gloves whenever I need to go for supplies. Better than nothing, I suppose. I soak them in alcohol afterward.

Adventures in cheap packaged foods: Bumble Bee Sun-Dried Tomato & Basil Seasoned Tuna

Today we have another selection from the world of seasoned tuna. As well as a special guest food critic.

I’m sun-dried tomato fan. And a big basil fan. (I was a loyal customer of a particular pizza-by-the-slice joint in my San Francisco neighborhood because they had basil shakers rather than oregano.) So a combination of the two with tuna? No hesitation.


And, yeah, I think it’s pretty good. However, it’s too vinegary for Lou. He said he might mix it with diced onions and mayonnaise. (But, Lou, mayo has vinegar in it, too.)

So, why is a tuna and salmon company named Bumble Bee? Well, it does roll off the tongue easier than Columbia River Packers Association, or any of the other names it had over the years.

Water bearer

If I’m going to be hiking in the desert (or anywhere, really) I’ll need to carry water. That’s kind of Rule Number One.

The low budget solution would be several plastic bottles in the day pack I’ve had for years (yet rarely used). But fishing bottles out of the pack whenever I want a drink is inconvenient, and having them flop and rattle around while walking/climbing is annoying.

Or I could go with a dedicated hydration pack. That would mean extra cost. And I’d want to carry other things besides water, like maps, camera, emergency gear, clothing layers, and food.

So I got this highly rated Platypus 3 liter hydration bladder to carry in my day pack. Unlike some day packs, mine doesn’t have a special pocket for bladders, but there are several internal compartments that can do the job.

Adventures in cheap packaged foods: Great Value Fully Cooked Corned Beef

I grew up in a culture that didn’t know corned beef was salt cured brisket. Hell, we didn’t even know what brisket was. To us corned beef was compressed flakes of pink meat that came in a can—either by itself or as hash—and was served in slices, usually with a fried egg, maybe on a sandwich. And that it tasted different from “regular” beef. We would’ve called it “tangy,” because “spicy” was way outside our frame of reference. Mostly, of course, it was salty.

So what would I think of canned corned beef now, not having eaten it since I was a kid? Would my adult tastebuds, my resurrected post-radiation therapy tastebuds, find it comforting or revolting?

I tried some straight from the can. Um, edible. Not horrible. Then I heated up a slice. That was better. Overall, I’d rate it in the middle of the Love-Hate scale, somewhere around Eh, Whatever.

I know there are more interesting things that can be done with corned beef. Mix it with this, season it with that, etc. However, I haven’t missed corned beef all these years, and I probably won’t miss it in the future. But if someone is going to serve it, plain or fancied up, then yeah, okay.

UPDATE: Speaking of mixing the corned beef with other things, I added some of the green chile elk sausage with it, and some string cheese. Quite good.

Another day of exploration

The original plan was to go north from where I’m staying in Mimbres and then drive up McKnight Road into the eastern part of the Gila Mountains. However, I discovered I would have to drive through the Mimbres River. I got out, looked at the depth and width, and decided, eeeehhh, I might be able to make it just fine, but I’m not in the mood to try it.

So I continued north on the highway to North Star Road (state road 150). No water crossing required. The first part of this unpaved road, from the valley up to the 7,000± foot ridge, had some bad washboard, then things smoothed out quite nicely. Spur roads and dirt tracks through juniper trees led to many dispersed camping sites, often with two or more bars of Verizon signal. (General cellular rule: good signal on ridges, little-to-no signal in ravines.)

Plenty of sites like this

North Star Road becomes state road 61, running over 50 miles through the southern Gila Mountains, crossing the Continental Divide Trail along the way, dropping in and out of pine-filled gullies.

I had crossed over the divide when I thought to check my gas gauge. Doh! I had forgotten to fill up before setting out. I had a quarter tank, which always seems to disappear faster than any of the previous three quarters. Hmmm, where would the closest gas be and how far could I get before running dry? I did the arithmetic. Thirty gallon tank divided by four equals seven-and-a-half gallons. At about sixteen miles per gallon I could get something like one hundred-twenty miles. Since I’d be coasting downhill at least part of the way, let’s say a hundred-forty miles. Could I count on there being gas somewhere to the east, north or west? How far? Or do I play it safe and turn around? Caution won the day.

On the way back there was a spur road and a sign stating MIMBRES RIVER 1 MI. I had enough gas for that diversion. The road got narrower and lumpier, then even narrower—essentially one lane—as it switchbacked down to the river. I could see a roomy dispersed campsite ahead, surrounded by pines and cottonwoods. I chuckled because I’d need to drive through the same river that had thwarted me earlier. But the water was much shallower. No problem.

Ah, such a nice place to spend the day.

Then other people started arriving. A couple of moms with kids. An angler. Two more that left when they saw we were already there. Popular place. My mellow was becoming harshed.

I got thinking about that very narrow road. And the drop-off on the switchbacks. And encountering oncoming traffic. And how I suck at backing up. I decided I should probably leave.

As I topped the switchbacks and got to where the road widened just a bit, a truck came the other way. Then, just before North Star Road, a mini convoy of three Tahoes rolled past me in a cloud of dust. I was glad I didn’t meet them on the switchbacks. It seems I have good luck with these things.

Forget something, Craig?

Today I found this biodegradable soap at a dispersed campsite instead of the usual beer cans, cigarette butts and shell casings. Poor Craig. Putting his name on it still didn’t keep him from losing it.

Where am I going, and is it a good idea?

There are many times I prefer an empty road. Peace, solitude, decreased chance of a collision, etc. But there are times when it makes me anxious. Like when I went exploring in the Gila Mountains this morning.

I had a good idea where I wanted to go: from Mogollon to Preserve via National Forest fire roads. I had studied the atlas and Google maps, and there were squiggly lines going from Point A to Point B. Too many lines, some of them leading the wrong way, some leading to dead ends. The atlas showed which parts were unpaved, but there are degrees of unpaved, ranging from smooth as pavement to passible only by goats. I decided the only way to know for certain was to just go.

The forest road out of Mogollon features a sign advising high-clearance vehicles. But how high is high? The road is rather narrow and littered with small stones. But no mud or sand, no ruts, and only brief patches of washboard. As I drove, I thought, okay, this is doable. For now. But what if it gets a lot worse? What if I realize it’s too gnarly for the Rolling Steel Tent and me only after I’ve passed the last place to turn around? What if something breaks?

A couple of miles along I came upon a couple with a pickup, standing by the road, looking at the scenery. Okay, I thought, so I’m not the only fool up here. And if I have some sort of trouble, they’ll probably be along and might help me. I relaxed a little.

Not long after, the couple caught up with me. I sensed I was going too slow for them, so I pulled over at a wide spot and let them pass. Oh no. Now what if I needed help? The road hadn’t gotten bad so far, so maybe things would be fine.

It’s a nice day up among the conifers

I continued on, becoming more confident as the road got no worse, enjoying the adventure.

Then I came upon a couple of guys in an official looking truck. I thought they might be there to stop me, turn me around, because of conditions ahead. They just gave a nod and a little wave. Cool.

Around a couple of bends I saw why those guys were there. A front-end loader was smoothing the road and shoving fallen trees and rocks out of the way. Ah, so this little fire road was important enough to maintain. People besides crazy retired van bums use it. As if to demonstrate that point, a lady in a Nissan Merano came from the other direction. And then a couple of dudes in an old Tacoma. (There are always dudes in old Tacomas in the forests and deserts.) Then a rancher in a Silverado. And another in a Ram. Yay, I’m not alone up here!

About 9,000 feet up

Perhaps best of all, there were directional signs. As if they expected bozos like me to wander up there without knowing the way. Signs! Pointing to my destination. Reserve, that way. Yes. Thank you very much.

So my just-go-and-find-out strategy was successful. I suspect I’ll be exploring more of these mountain roads. At least until I get too confident and end up in a fix.

Adventures in free meat

This isn’t a food blog, but here I go again.

One of Lou’s neighbors gave him a hunk of elk sausage about the size of one’s forearm. Lou appreciates neighborly gifts but isn’t a fan of wild game, so he asked if I wanted it. Sure. I tried a slice of it today.

I was forewarned by W GREEN CHILE on the label. New Mexicans love their chiles. They offer license plates proclaiming the state is Chile Capital of the World. (Not to be confused with Santiago, the capital of Chile.)

It was very tasty, nothing gamey about it. Then the heat started to build. And build. Not to the point of pain, but pretty much overpowering any other flavors. The elk meat became little more than a medium to deliver chiles. It’s fun, but not something I’d want to make my main source of protein. It’ll take a long time to consume it all. Unless I pass it along. The gift that keeps on giving. And warming.

UPDATE: I experimented dicing some of this up and mixing it with corned beef (see May 9 post) and string cheese. That cut the heat, and the combination was quite good.

Customer feedback

Butterfield rest area, on US-180 between Silver City and Deming, New Mexico

Adventures in cheap packaged foods: StarKist Creations Premium Tuna with Rice and Beans

Today we swerve from the canned pork-beef-chicken trail to try some fancied-up tuna. Whole grain rice, black pearl barley, daikon radish seeds, beans, carrots, corn, and hot sauce. Looks promising. Looks healthier.

Tuna never looks good in an envelope

Basically, this is a ready-made tuna salad. As the package says, “Enjoy in lettuce wraps or straight from the pouch.” The idea of room-temperature rice and beans gave me pause. I’ve always had rice and beans warm. But this was an experiment. I decided to try it their way. I didn’t have any lettuce so I just ate it as is.

Not bad. Quite tasty, in fact. Oh, wait… WHOO! It’s very spicy. Hence the flaming BOLD on the package. I like spicy foods, but this stuff was at my threshold of tolerance. My mouth numbed a little and I was able to continue. I like how the spiciness didn’t overpower the other flavors.

Should’ve cleaned my nails before taking this photo

I wondered what it would taste like mixed with mayo, like some other types of tuna salad. That mellowed it a bit. And the bread damped the fire a little more. But yeah, good stuff—if you like tuna. And extreme spiciness. I do. Are the veggies and spices enough to make tuna haters change their mind? Mmmm, who knows?

Spring cleaning

I spent part of yesterday cleaning the dust and dirt from the driver’s compartment. Man, the dashboard has a lot of nooks and crannies. Break out the Q-tips.

A lot of stuff I had stuffed in the console and door pockets (like the warranty for tires I no longer had and the registration from three years ago) could be thrown out. And I rearranged the items stored on the passenger floor so it’s neater and simpler.

I saved the area around the rear doors for today. I had been ignoring how dirty it was back there. Months of driving on unpaved roads had left its mark. Dunes were starting to form. When I removed the plastic trim piece from the floor I discovered six-plus years of accumulation.

Screws, washers (no nuts, for some reason), pennies, a piece of zip-tie, pine needles, fuzz, pebbles, and dirt as crusty as adobe.

I’m ashamed for letting it get so dirty, but proud I got it all cleaned up. Not show car clean, but as good as I can get it without gutting the interior and power washing it.

Adventures in cheap packaged foods: Hormel Tamales

I love tamales. They’re one of my comfort foods. But canned tamales? Made by a gringo corporation whose other meat products are, um, less than delicious? Uuuuuuuhhh… What the hell. Take one for the team.

There are a lot of tamale variations. Different sizes and shapes, different contents, different wrappers. In the US, finger-sized tamales swimming in sauce seem to be a more popular style away from the border regions. Venders with pots of these little tamales used to work the streets as far north as New York and Boston.

These look rather pathetic in the can. They’re wrapped in some kind of paper rather than corn husks or banana leaves. And they’re obviously extruded from a machine rather than hand formed by loving abuelas. The ‘sauce” is very watery. I nuked them for a bit and…

If you like Hormel chili, then you might like these tamales. It’s the same type of mild heat with very little actual flavor except for salt and something suspiciously metallic. The meat is so finely ground it’s almost a paste. (It has to be to flow through the extruder.) And the masa is essentially tasteless. I tried these with and without the sauce. No difference. Despite their blandness these tamales still manage to taste kind of, oh, annoying.