I guess I got the wrong hiking shoes

I should've waited for these beauties. All natural, too!

RVs are bad at hide & seek

Even less

Something about the Slabs (probably some full time residents' collection of junk and trash) got me in the mood to edit my stuff again. I didn't get rid of a lot, but I reorganized things well enough to allow me to part with another container. Where will this end?

Seen

Stepping twice

You cannot step twice into the same river.  —Heraclitus

While Slab City isn't a river, it is different from the last time I was here. The pavement is lumpier than I remember. Messes have been cleaned up in one spot while garbage piles up somewhere else. There's new art at East Jesus and a new crew maintains Leonard Knight's Salvation Mountain. But mostly it's the seasonal migration of residents and visitors. It changes the tone of things.

Snowbird season was winding down when I arrived at the end of February, and pretty much over when I left a month later. The triple-digit heat was on its way. It was no problem finding a place to set up camp then.

But now it's the beginning of high season. I had to cruise around a while searching for a spot. My neighbors are closer than I was used to before. They probably aren't too pleased to see me occupy one of the remaining patches of open ground. It will get worse. Someone might show up and want to chase me from "their spot."

The economic and generational divide is also more obvious than before. The haves and have-nots. Those on a lark, those in desperation. The retirees and the young adults—some with kids. I'm more conscious of what parts of "town" I don't really fit into. So I ended up in sort of a voluntary segregation. I don't mind poor people. I mind people throwing trash all over the place. Sadly, the two go hand-in-hand rather often. I'm in a middle class area. True to my roots, I guess. In a vagabond way.

How long I stay this time will be influenced, in part, by how crowded it gets. I'll flee if it becomes like an RV park. Sorry, there's too much room in this country to be crammed together like that—even if it is rent-free.

Local flora

Self-assigned theme

1. Walk around the Slabs and see what sort of pairings I can photograph.

Actually, there was no assignment when I set off with my camera this morning. I was just looking for new things to shoot. I had documented a lot of the interesting stuff when I was here last. Time to get arty.

The return of Chet

Twenty years ago I set out on what I didn't know would be the prelude to life in the Rolling Steel Tent. I took off for a three week trip, meandering from California to Maine and back. Blogging hadn't been invented yet, so I kept a journal that only I have seen. My companion on the journey was a Shriner figure that I photographed at every stop along the way. I called him Chet.

I found Chet today as I was sorting through my stuff. He was pissed that I'd left him rattling around in a dark bin for over a year. Sorry, amigo.

It was only fitting that I should take Chet out for a photo op. I'm back in Slab City, so I showed him East Jesus, posing him in a piece of the commune founder's art. You can see Chet's excited.

Found it at last!

Years ago, in not-so-latino Charlotte, a Mexican restaurant that specialized in the food of Nayarite had Salsa Huichol on its tables. I loved it.

I'd kept my eye out for it, but had had no luck since I don't generally shop in Mexican stores. They didn't even have it in a salsa specialty store at Farmers Market in Los Angeles. I spotted it today, though, in the Food 4 Less in El Centro, California (which, given the geography, is sort of like being in a mercado).

"Seasoned with the best spices and hot peppers from the Nayar Mountains." Why, of course. The reason I love it is that it's savory, not just spicy.

I wonder if the Huichol people had anything to do with this hot sauce other than picking the peppers—if that.

These shoes were bought for walkin'

And that's just what they do

Black shows the dust and dirt, but these shoes work fine otherwise. I like the Dickies canvas work pants, too.

Palm Canyon, Kofa National Wildlife Refuge

If one hadn't done a wee bit of googling beforehand about Palm Canyon, one might be disappointed. The canyon is not filled with palms. There's just one crevice with fifteen or so of them. What makes them significant is that they're the only naturally occurring California Fan Palms in Arizona. Which makes one wonder how they got there in the first place. Bird poo, I suppose.

You can climb all the way up to the palms if you're the rock climber/mountaineer type. I'm not.

If you came just to see the palms, you might fail to notice what a nice place the canyon is at about 10:30 on a November morning. Quite. Startling fresh air. Interesting light on the canyon walls. There's a chance of seeing desert big horn sheep and other critters (it's a wildlife refuge, after all), though I saw none. I didn't care. I was happy.

The Rolling Steel Tent is parked somewhere down there

It's not the easiest trail, but an old fart like me made it up and back without incident

Sheesh, some people

I think they might need more wheels

And some aluminum polish.

Rare selfie

So, what does one do while waiting for the right sunlight in a desert canyon? Alone. Oh well, pardon my ego.

Ack! Wrinkles!

Which am I?

"To the desert go prophets and hermits; through deserts go pilgrims and exiles."

PAUL SHEPARD, MAN IN THE LANDSCAPE: A HISTORIC VIEW OF THE ESTHETICS OF NATURE

What does freedom look like?

This is a screen capture from my online bill paying. It's a fine representation of one of the possible joys of van dwelling. I don't owe these companies anything anymore. They don't own a piece of me. It feels great.

The only debt left is one credit card that's nearly paid off, and my current mobile account.

I paid cash for the Rolling Steel Tent. I get my electricity from the sun, my water free or from vending machines (I use a fraction-of-a-fraction of what I did when I lived in buildings). I'm still working on my first tankful of propane ($18) from fifteen months ago. Insurance and registration are easily managed.

An updated credit rating arrived in the mail a while back. Funny how my credit is great now that I don't need it, don't want it. Thanks, financial institutions, but I'm into cash these days, not debt. I'm sure you'll survive without me. (Insert rude noise here.)