Tuesday, November 11
For those of you who haven’t kept up with my blog, Bridget and I are camped at Cholla Campground on Roosevelt Lake, east of Phoenix.
I talk my face off all day.
In the morning with Krystina who is camped here in her Class C. In the afternoon with Jack, the man I met at Lone Rock (Page, AZ). Jack is leaving in the morning, so this is our goodbye chat.
Teresa and Bruce stop by for a brief hello as they walk the campground loop with their two dogs. It’s a surprise to see them again. I met Teresa and Bruce last winter in Los Algodones, Mexico, when they recognized me sitting in a plaza waiting for my eyeglasses to be ready. They recently passed their one-year anniversary of living full-time “on the road.”
Wednesday, November 12
After breakfast I pack a picnic lunch, bop Bridget into the Perfect Tow Vehicle, and cruise out of the campground. We follow the lake shore southward, cross the bridge, and turn right onto the Apache Trail.
Immediately I pull into Inspiration Point.
She ALWAYS makes a fuss. I ignore her. I want to take photos without having to keep an eye on her.
Nothing unusual about that!
“Okay, Bridget. Settle down. I’ll let you out at the next stop.”
On the other side of the dam is another viewing area.
I pull in, park, jump out, and go around to open the side door for Bridget.
“What the heck is that SMELL?”
I notice brown smears on the seat.
“Oh, no! You had an accident.”
Well, that’s what happens when you cry wolf all the time.
Okay. Changing the subject . . .
Here’s the dam from the other side.
One sign warns that the road is “not for the faint of heart.” I’ve been on enough canyon roads to know what the sign refers to… one lane of dirt, blind curves, no guardrails, steep drops to the bottom of the gorge.
Well, I’ll drive it until I don’t want to go any further.
Of course, I can’t take photos where the road is narrow.
It’s a lovely, balmy day. I don’t want to spend it suffering on this road. There’s a lot of good road elsewhere that I haven’t explored yet.
You can see the narrow dirt road in the next picture.
He’s gripping the steering wheel like it’s liable to fall off. Is that fear on his face?
Maybe someday I’ll go all the way to Apache Lake. Not today . . .
At Route 188 again, I turn right and head southeast along the lake.
I want to see the campgrounds on the southern end of the lake.
Bridget sits beside me in her bed between the front seats. I reach over and scratch under her chin.
“That was mean of me, wasn’t it. You really had to go potty and I didn’t let you out. I’m sorry, little girl.”
To be continued . . .
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