Lone Pine Peak (elev. 12,943 ft.) is in our backyard.
Shortly after sunrise, the sun’s rays clear the Inyo Mountains to the east and transform Lone Pine Peak to the west from silvery gray to light cadmium red.
Before settling in for a night’s sleep, I make sure the blinds on the large back window of the Best Little Trailer are drawn up so that my next morning will begin with this glorious sight. It hardly seems like the same mountain!
The crew and I hang around camp, playing in the desert.
I like to inhabit a camp for a few days before running off to explore the surrounding area. I think I automatically do that in order to establish a feeling of home, not only for myself but also for Bridget and Spike.
Spike, being male, needs to acquaint himself with the area it is his province to protect. He explores, under my watchful eye, in a gradually widening circle, sniffing as he goes. He establishes a perimeter by marking key objects, their importance known only to himself. All this takes time which I gladly afford him. He’s serious about this responsibility.
Bridget, on the other hand, being female, is sensitive to relationship, namely hers and mine. Her eyes constantly look for clues of my mood and intent.
My new shoes are on my feet morning ’til night.
I’m happy with the color described as “earth/mimosa,” now that the color is more “desert dust/cottonwood.”
Yikes! Big Foot!
No, it’s just my size seven-and-a-half shoes. Aren’t they great?
Speaking of cottonwoods . . .
Our campsite is alongside an arroyo. That’s where the cottonwood trees grow. This is the view to the east toward the Inyo Mountains.
The crew and I make a jaunt into Lone Pine.
I come across Chuy on the way to Joseph’s Grocery. He apparently is on his way home at the end of the street. I bring down my window.
“Hey, Chuy!” I call out.
He turns and immediately smiles, running over to the Perfect Tow Vehicle. “Hi! I was wondering if you’d come back here!”
I met Chuy last year. He lives in a tidy blue house with a picket fence embellished with roses, zinnias, and asters that his sister plants for him. I stop in the middle of the street and turn off the engine. This is Lone Pine. It doesn’t matter.
Chuy reports that the cats still poop on his lawn in spite of the six-foot tall fence his sister had erected between his property and the cat lady next door. I let him vent about that for a few minutes.
Then he proudly points down the street to his new-to-him, 1996 white Ford pick-up. He describes all the features it has that his old ’76 truck didn’t. The truck does appear to be in great condition from what I can see and I compliment him on it.
He catches me up on some Lone Pine news, we say goodbye, and I continue on to the grocery store. I see that the library is closed on Sundays so I make a mental note to return on Monday.
Let me tell you a silly thing about the hat . . .
Remember the grey wool, cloche hat I ordered from Amazon? When I get back inside the BLT after picking it up at the UPS place, I stick it on my head and, of course, it’s a very snug fit. This isn’t a surprise. My head is big, as far as heads go. Well, I’ll wear it for a while. Give it a chance to stretch out.
I putter around. I go online. I walk around the campground with the crew. (This is back when we were camped at Tinnemaha Campground.)
Later, inside the BLT, I check myself out in the full-length mirror affixed to the bathroom door. Oh, for heaven’s sake. I laugh out loud. I’ve been walking around the campground doing a Minnie Pearl impression. A big ol’ 3-inch by 5-inch tag hangs from the side of the hat. It’s RVSue at the Grand Old Opry!
We need another photo . . .
Gosh, I’m heady with all this exciting news to report . . . . Can you feel it?
I find that my temporary library card from last fall is still good. I’m allowed to check out two books, paperback only. A fifty-ish gentleman hanging around the librarian’s desk mumbles, “Treat you like an eight-year-old.” I ignore his remark (although I take it as an indication he feels seniors deserve respect). I’m happy to be able to check out anything at all, being the transient I am.
I choose two paperbacks and then purchase four more (50 cents each) from a box pointed out to me by the librarian. I drive the crew and myself back to camp. I’m filled with good cheer thinking about the six books I’ll read in my spiffy new lounge chair.
I promised I’d tell you about leveling the BLT on this sloped site. Remember this photo taken in the early morning light?
First I level the BLT side-to-side.
The bubble level above the propane tanks indicate the door side is too low. Usually that means driving that side’s wheel up onto a board or leveling blocks. In this case I don’t want to do that because it would make the door step too high for Spike.
Instead I dig out some sand behind the wheel on the other side.
When you’re a newbie, you don’t always think of things like this. . . . One, that you need to have a shovel or spade with you, and . . . Two, you can dig one side, rather than prop up the other side, as another way to level your rig from side-to-side.
Next I need to level front-to-back.
The slope is downward toward the tongue. I do not like the front end of the BLT perched way up high on the hitch post fully extended. It would probably be okay, but, to be honest, it gives me the creeps. (Try to ignore the munchkin while I explain this.)
In order to avoid that “teeter-tottering on a stick” look . . .
I place two square boards on the ground. I put the cone on top of them. Next I crank the post down into the cone until the coupler (the round tip of the tongue) is lifted off the hitch ball. I move the PTV ahead (so it’s easier to get in the back doors), and, in this case, crank the coupler even higher until the bubble-level on the side of the PTV shows the BLT is level from front to back. Secure the hitch-lock and we’re done!
Don’t do any of this before chocking the wheels!
Okay, now you can look at the munchkin. Take note of her cute little frog legs in the sand.
Oh yeah, the plastic bag in the photo . . .
It’s my collection of trash picked up on a walk in the desert — mostly beer bottles, plastic drink bottles, and rusty tin cans with two triangular holes in the top, which, any archeologist can tell you, dates them as artifacts of the Pre-PopTop Era.
A dear reader once told me . . .
My blog is like a bedtime story. In other words, it can put you to sleep. Well, wake up, sleepyhead! It’s time to go shopping!
THANK YOU, RVSUE SHOPPERS!
Every Amazon order you place through my blog is appreciated.
“REAR VIEW MIRROR”
Late July 2013 the crew and I discover Delmoe Lake, a reservoir not far from Butte, Montana.