The aforementioned new eyeglasses

Where oh where?

First order of business today was picking up eyeglasses in Los Algodones. 

Second order of business was……… Go back to my camp along Ogilby Road? Eh, I could, but there are other choices.

Go to Quartzsite and await the arrival of a package next week? Mmmmaybe. But that’s longer than I’d want to be there.

What about going east? Ajo? Buenos Aires NWR? Ironwood Forest? Yeah, but I’d need to come back to Quartzsite for that package.

Maybe Shea Road near Parker? Could be.

What about the BLM land south of Lake Havasu City? It’s a thought.

So I decided to head to Quartzsite and see how I felt once I got there.

I felt like continuing on.

At Parker I made a quick stop at Walmart, and continued on.

Man, there sure are a lot of people at The Steps.

So here I am, near Lake Havasu City, camped in a serviceable-but-not-fantastic spot, thinking about going to Oatman tomorrow. Or not. 

There’s something I could get at Lowe’s or Home Depot to make a small modification to the Rolling Steel Tent. Or I could do it after Oatman. Or not at all.

There are some things I should be writing instead of spending my time driving. My current location isn’t conducive to that. Where would be? Maybe I’ll know in the morning.

Winter afternoon routine

1. Reposition the Rolling Steel Tent so the tilted solar panel faces west

2. Replenish beverages, if necessary, so the fridge has time to cool them before sunset, thus avoiding overtaxing the batteries

3. Charge up the laptop and hotspot so they have enough power to last until I call it a day around, oh, midnight.

Sometimes I forget to do these things, like when I get lost in an afternoon nap (see previous post) and don’t wake up until evening. Oops.

Conflict of interest

During winter I want to experience as much of the lessened daylight as possible. Up with the sun, and all that. The weather the past few days has been absolutely perfect, making the daylight even better.

However, this weather is also perfect for afternoon naps. Doors and windows open. Clean, dry air, light breeze, and… Mmmmm, I’ll just lie back and soak some of it in. 

Down down down I go into deep, delicious, decadent sleep. Yesssssssssssss… What a wonderful drug.

And, bing, a couple of hours of precious daylight is gone. Oh well. It’s better than missing daylight because I’m stuck inside at some odious job. 

HOW I DO IT: Washing my hair

Random fan

I was leaving the laundromat as another vandwelling boomer guy entered. “Hey,” he said, “I like your videos.”

I hadn’t been expecting him (or anyone else) to talk to me, so I intelligently, suavely replied, “Huh?”

“We’ve never met, but I watch your short YouTube videos. I enjoy them.”

Now that I knew he was talking to me, and that he wasn't someone I was supposed to recognize, I dialed up my social graces to eleven and answered, “Uh, oh... thanks.”

It wasn’t until I was down the street that I started wondering how he knew who I was. Or had he thought I was someone else? Oh well, a little break in the routine.

Coming or going?

I stopped by Bombay Beach on my way back from Joshua Tree to see what art had been added or subtracted. This water slide-ish thing and the concrete/steel/razor wire star weren’t there the last time. And I don’t know whether they were in the process of being erected or demolished. Maybe that is the point.

Another adventure with salmon

Today’s new-to-me food is from a large supermarket. And it costs about six times as much as the dollar store salmon filet I had Sunday. But, hey, it’s for the advancement of gustatory research and all that.

I had heard of salmon jerky but it never seemed appetizing enough to try. I knew dried fish had been a staple for much of human existence, but there must have been a reason it became less popular once other options became available. (Hurray for refrigeration!) I imagine Epic Provisions had done some market research and learned salmon jerky wasn’t as tempting as salmon bites. Hey, it tempted me.

I opened the package and, well, it smelled like fish. In a good way. And the first taste was sort of… neutral. It wasn’t offensive but it wasn’t delicious. As I chewed (it requires some serious chewing, like most jerky) the flavor moved up a little on the positive end of the scale. Okay. I tried another piece. And another. I had soon eaten half the package. Whoa, I guess I liked the stuff. Or I was hungrier than I thought.

Payoff

These leaves weren’t there the other day

I know I grumble about rain. I know it’s a good thing. Last week’s wet weather allowed the ocotillos to leaf out and start to bloom. 

So, yes, more rain please. My inconvenience is nothing compared to the suffering of plants and wildlife. 

Spur of the moment decision

I had driven from Yuma to Quartzsite to pick up a package at my mail forwarder. Then I had a shower at the Flying J in Ehrenberg. Afterward, at the roundabout, where I could got east, north or west, I suddenly decided to go to Joshua Tree rather than return to Yuma. Decisions like that are easy when you already have all your stuff with you. A couple of hours later I was climbing around an outcropping, enjoying the perfect weather.

Open house

It’s winter. Absolute frozen-to-your-bones winter in some places. But not here. Not today. After a coolish and wet spell that made buying a puffer jacket seem like a good idea, the currents have shifted. The forecast predicts very pleasant mid-to-upper 70s for the next few days in the greater Yuma area. So the doors and windows are open to let in that springlike wonderfulness. I don’t know what the groundhog predicted for the rest of the country, but I would gladly take six more weeks of this.

Dollar store salmon?

I’m pretty certain none of the advice about buying good fish recommends Dollar Tree, but what the hell, it was only a buck. 

I had the choice of cod, tilapia or salmon. Hmmmm. Cod triggers nightmares of my days working at a fish & chip joint. Tilapia is crap. So I went with the more upscale salmon. Because, as I said, it was only a buck.

The white stuff was some kind of clear liquid that was with the fish

I let it thaw in the fridge overnight then sautéd it in some Danish butter and ghee with some salt and pepper. And…

Nothing horrible, nothing great, and nothing very salmony. Just generic mild fish flavor. About what you’d expect for fish that isn’t fresh from the ocean. 

But this was much better than the canned salmon I tried a few months ago for old times’ sake. Mom used to make salmon loaf with the stuff. I hated it as a kid but had a nostalgic craving for it. Blekh. Even the coyotes wouldn’t eat the remains I left for them.

Would I eat dollar store fish again? Mmmmm, I wouldn’t rule it out. There’s nothing wrong with it. There’s just nothing compelling about it. Except the price.

Am I now obliged to go somewhere cold?

This jacket was deeply discounted because the apparel industry has proclaimed the middle of winter to be spring. Since it was cheap and in a color other than the Official ‘Merican Male Colors of black, charcoal, navy, dark green, dark red and camouflage, I grabbed it.

I don’t know if it’s any warmer than my fleece tops, but it should be slightly more impervious to wind. And it’s roomy enough for extra layering. I hope I never need to do that.

Becoming my father

Dad would turn down the radio whenever he started the car. It didn’t matter what the station was. It didn’t matter how loud it was—or wasn’t. He would turn it down. Of course, he’d eventually reach the point where, click, he turned it all the way off. He would claim one of us kids had turned it up, even though it might’ve been days, weeks, since we last rode with him. He still did it after the nest was empty and we weren’t around to blame. He did it even after Mom had passed on and almost no one ever rode with him. The habit was that deeply ingrained. It was part of the routine, like insert the key, depress the clutch, put it in neutral, apply the brakes, turn the key, turn down the radio, put it in gear, release the clutch, go. One time I caught him trying to turn down the radio when it was already off.

Well, lately, I’ve startled myself several times when starting the Rolling Steel Tent. BAMMA-WADDA-WAH-WAH-GA-BAMMA-WAMMA-WEEE-EEE-EEEEEE!!! Whoa, the radio is loud! I thought I had turned it down when I pulled into the dispersed camping area, so as not to annoy my fellow boondockers. As much. Yup, the volume was at 14 instead of the usual 23. And yet, it felt like it was on 50 (even though the volume doesn’t go that high).

Is this going to be a thing now? Am I going to be one of those “Turn down that racket” guys? What a depressing thought. Next thing you know I'll be turning off the radio so I can read the GPS. Oh wait, I already do that.

The H word

A storm system rolled into the desert this past week. We really needed the rain, but since every silver lining has a cloud, I have reason to be less than thrilled. Humidity. 

I love arid air. It’s the glorious antithesis to my less-than-happy life in the South. Dry is good. Dry is clean. Humidity is clammy, clingy, laden with spores and malaise. Humidity is intrusive. It doesn’t want you to forget it’s there.

So here I am, with the humidity fluctuating between 40 and 60 percent—a range most of the country considers normal—getting all cranky, wanting this oppressive wetness to end. Now! But, no. There’s more rain tomorrow. Sigh. I think I’m sprouting gills.

Taking advantage of a break in the weather