Thursday, October 23
“Dammit, Bridget. We’ve been hanging around camp for days! We need to go somewhere.”
Hey, that gives me an idea. “Let’s go see the dam!”
We motor across the bridge and park on the other side.
There are walkways on both sides of the bridge. People go out there and look down into the gorge. Not me! Hence, no gorge photos.
I do have a dam photo for you though.
I move the PTV to a parking area where Bridget can get out and walk around. Of course, she take years off my life by strolling right over to the edge of a gazillion-foot drop to certain death at the bottom of the gorge.
“Get over here, Bridget! For heaven’s sake, of all the places you can sniff . . . .”
Time out! Time out!
I’m kidding! Don’t contact the authorities. Bridget was never in danger. I’m just playin’ with ya.’ (Crawl back under your bridge, trolls.)
Okay, so we leave the dam and head into Page.
I make a quick stop at Safeway and immediately leave Page. It’s a very busy place during lunch hour and this lady don’t do traffic no mo’.
Back to the dam bridge again. . . .
On the way back to Lone Rock Camp, I make a short detour off of Route 89.
The PTV takes us up to what the sign says is a “Scenic Overlook.”
Can you believe this place?
From the overlook one can see the boats at Wahweap Marina.
Bridget and I return to Route 89 and our camp in Utah.
That takes about three minutes as Lone Rock Camp is next to the Arizona-Utah border.
Friday, October 24
Bridget and I hang around camp. I walk over to the water spigot next to the camp host’s site and fill up two water jugs and carry them back to our site. I wash a few dishes. Bridget naps. I sit in the lounger and read.
Jack and I talk for a couple of hours. I tell him I’m moving camp in the morning.
“Whatcha’ wanna’ move for? It’s beautiful here,” Jack says.
“I know, I know, ” I reply as I look across the sweep of the desert plain.
“I don’t know why . . . . I feel we’re not in the right place or something. I like it here, but I’m restless. It’s time to move.”
Around 9 a.m. I hitch us up, stop at Jack’s and say goodbye, swing around to the dump station (don’t need to, but never pass up a free dump, I always say), dump tanks, take on water, toss our trash in the dumpster, and drive away from beautiful Lone Rock Camp.
At Page we get on Route 20 south toward Flagstaff.
Traditionally one takes Route 89 south to Flag. However, a while back, that road fell away or dropped into The Abyss… I don’t know the details. It makes me cringe to think of it. Anyway . . . .
Route 20 is “temporary Route 89 south.”
About 120 miles and we settle into a grassy camp among Ponderosa pines.
Isn’t this a wonderful way to live?
In a few hours Bridget and I go from red rock country — jaw-dropping gorgeous — to a serene, open forest of fragrant pines. From a roadrunner zig-zagging around our camp to a white-tailed squirrel skittering across pine boughs.
From scrubby sagebrush and majestic cliffs to the gentle fluttering of a grassy, tan meadow. Sand and stones underfoot to a carpet of pine needles . . .
I love living the possibilities!
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