Sunday, November 29
“The sun is shining. No wind. We need to go somewhere. I’m tired of being cooped up inside.”
Bridget and Reggie agree.
They rush out of the Best Little Trailer and wait with tails wagging at the side door of the Perfect Tow Vehicle.
We’re into the second week of our camp at Midland LTVA, northwest of Blythe, California.
Our permit expires on Tuesday, December 1st. We can buy another two-week permit and stay at Midland or use that permit at another LTVA location or go outside the LTVA boundary to camp. I haven’t decided what we will do. I want to check out Wiley’s Well.
Wiley’s Well is a campground within the Long Term Visitor Area boundary.
The same fee system applies ($180 for 7 months, Sept. 15 – Apr. 15, or 14 days for $40).
To go to Wiley’s Well from our camp at Midland, one drives into Blythe, boards Interstate 10 west and about 15 miles later takes the exit for the prison. The prison is 3 miles south of the interstate and Wiley’s Well is 6 miles further.
The pavement ends at the turn for the prison. The sandy road to the campground is presently in washboard condition.
I park in the day use area of Wiley’s Well and let out the crew.
We walk both campground loops, Reggie on this tether and Bridget on a short leash.
(Bridget likes to walk alongside me and leashes are required in the campground.) Of course, this being a campground, the sites are defined and numbered. The songs of birds emanate from the many palo verde trees.
Most of the 15 sites are occupied. People are outside on this bright and sunny morning which inhibits my photo-taking.
I meet the congenial camp host.
This is her first workamping position.
“Is that washboard road the way you go to Blythe from here?”
“Yes, that’s it. When we came in here six weeks ago it was smooth. We went for groceries the other day and I couldn’t believe how much it had changed.”
“You drive 25 miles one way for groceries?”
“Yeah. We go once a week.” She adds, “There’s a dump station up the road, we have trash pick-up and water, but it’s not for drinking.”
The Bradshaw Trail goes through the Mule Mountains to the east (from Blythe).
You can read more about the history of the Bradshaw Trail by following this link.
One of the draws to this area is the variety of rocks to be discovered.
We like it at Midland LTVA. However, the variety of walking experiences is limited. This little outing is a welcome change for the crew.
The road around the campground loops, being broken pavement, dirt and gravel, doesn’t allow the use of Bridget’s car. We take it slow and she enjoys the walk, but by the time we return to the PTV, she’s had enough.
I wouldn’t like this long drive for groceries . . . .
The PTV sweeps us down the exit ramp onto Lovekin Boulevard.
As we approach Carl’s Jr, my inner voice speaks. “You are hungry. You could eat like you mean it. All you have to do is . . . .”
“Okay! Okay I’m going in!” I pull into Carl’s Jr. and park in the drive-through lane.
There are three cars ahead of us.
The parking lot is jammed. More Carl’s Jr. customers park in the overflow lot and walk across the drive-through lane. It’s like the first day of state fair with people from all points converging on the entrance.
I guess everybody’s sick of turkey leftovers . . .
I bring down the windows and we wait.
The aroma of fast food infiltrates the PTV. Reggie sniffs the air.
“You know this place, don’t you, Reg,” I remark cheerfully. “You remember that Thanksgiving hamburger.”
We have a long wait before we can place our order and a long wait for it to be prepared. Bridget sits quietly on the bench seat. Reggie whimpers and whines in the passenger seat.
“It won’t be long. Hang on. You’ll get your burger.”
At long last the take-out window opens and the woman apologizes for the delay. She informs me that they’ve run out of enchilada sauce and suggests I substitute a chicken burrito with avocado and salsa.
“Sounds great!” I’d accept a PB & J on stale bread at this point. I didn’t really want enchiladas anyway. It was a hasty decision. I get confused by those big menus.
Okay, so here’s what happens with the Reggie Man.
The woman closes the take-out window. Reggie is shocked! His eyes, usually tender and oh-so-cute cloud over with a demon rage. You’ve never seen such a transformation!
Reggie throws a major fit, all nine pounds of him! This is not how it is supposed to go! This is when the hamburger comes out of that window! WHERE … IS … MY… BURGER!!!
He growls and kicks his back legs on the passenger seat.
He back-hoes with a fury the likes of which I’ve never seen from him. He yips and barks and hops. It’s a wonder he doesn’t execute two chihuahuan long jumps across my lap and through the take-out window to attack the poor woman, which would add another layer of meaning to the term “take-out window.”
“Gosh, Reggie. Control yourself. You’ll get your burger.”
At long last we pull out of Carl’s Jr.
I clutch the bag of fast food between me and the door as I drive us out of Blythe.
Reggie intently watches the scenery go by.
That little devil. He’s looking for the place where we pulled over before, where he ate the other burger. There it is!
I pull off the road and park the PTV in The Correct Burger-Eating Spot According To The Reginator.
I hate to think what he’d do if I drove past it!
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