Wednesday, November 11 (continued)
Turtle Mountain Road, looking toward Route 95 and the Sawtooth Range, CA
When in doubt, get out.
The crew and I ride the Perfect Tow Vehicle about a mile on Turtle Mountain Road from Route 95. We come upon a short loop to the left. Unsure whether it’s okay to drive on the loop (I see vehicle tracks but that doesn’t mean it’s okay), the three of us walk to see what’s there.
The loop is shaped like a teardrop.
At the furthest from the road is the widest part of the teardrop. It’s an area of desert pavement with no vegetation, an area large enough for three rigs of friends. The existence of a fire ring tells me it’s an established campsite. I estimate the distance from the campsite to Turtle Mountain Road to be less than 100 feet.
Hmm. . . . This is a good spot. It’s level and easy to access. Let’s see . . . How should I position the Best Little Trailer in this wind? And where does the sun come up and go down? Uh-oh. There’s a cholla over there. Don’t want the pups near that.
Turtle Mountain Road on the left, a wide wash parallel on the right
Soon I have a general idea of what I want to do.
Bridget, Reggie, and I walk the rest of the way around the teardrop lane and return to the PTV.
Instead of parking on the desert pavement right next to the fire ring and that treacherous cholla cactus, I drive further around the teardrop lane and stop. This points the nose of the PTV to the north and into the wind. I don’t want wind hitting us broadside. The door of our home faces east (I like to step out to sunshine, rather than shade, in the morning).
With this position, our “sitting room” will be at the back of the BLT where we are protected from the wind. The rays of the sun, as it crosses the southern sky, will warm the doggie beds and my lounger.
Before setting up camp, I want to satisfy my curiosity.
“C’mon, let’s walk further up the road.”
As we walk, the road bed soon becomes very soft with — I’m not sure what to call it — a combination of coarse sand and loose gravel. If I squiggle my feet they sink down until covered higher than my ankles. I don’t want to drive in this. We’ll take that campsite we’re in. It’s far enough away from the main road . . .
Another campsite is off to the left.
This campsite is bigger that the first one. You have to drive through the section of soft road to get to it (which a Class C did the next day, arriving late in the day and leaving early the next morning).
Gee, this wind is really strong. We’d better go back and set up camp.
“Do you need a little rest first, honey?”
Bridget sits down in the road. I don’t annoy her by trying to take a photo.
Instead I look up at the very large palo verde beside the road.
Have you ever looked at something and been stunned because it defies what your life’s experiences have taught you is the normal way of things? Something that seems to go against the laws of physics? Something that can’t be happening, but, golly, there it is, happening right in front of you?
Well, that’s the way it is with these butterflies flying against the wind.
In the photo it looks like a calm day.
It’s not.
It’s a hold-onto-your-hat-or-it-will-blow-away kind of windy day. It’s wind that makes you bend your head down as you walk into it.
“Would you look at those little things! How can they do that! It’s a wonder this wind doesn’t tear them apart or blow them away!”
They’re really high up, flying toward the top of the tree. The light is such that I can’t see them with my camera. I take some shots in the general direction and hope I got lucky.
On our return to the new camp, I reflect on what I just witnessed.
Those butterflies, as light and fragile as they are, relentlessly fight this strong wind, a wind that drives me indoors. The next time I’m discouraged about something and feel like giving up, if my purpose is good and true, I’ll remember those butterflies flying against the wind.
Thursday, November 12 – Saturday, November 14
After a breezy Thursday, the days are warm, sunny, and calm. I read, work on this blog, walk the crew, lounge in the sunshine, and simply enjoy the solitude of this desert camp.
In addition to the Class C, three vehicles pass our camp, one per day. The last person lays on his horn as he races his truck down Turtle Mountain Road.
I take it he approves of our boondock!
rvsue
NOTE: Today, as I post this on Sunday, November 15, is Rusty’s birthday. Happy Birthday, Rusty! I wish you and Lady Piper a wonderful year!
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