Lazy Days

• Like a kid waiting for Santa, I am sitting here waiting for the propane delivery man to arrive. I felt a little better after talking with other folks who had also pulled off the road without a full propane tank just before the incredibly cold Christmas week. Better, yes; warmer, no. It is a lesson learned on a long list of lessons.



• The Southern California sun comes up around 7 a.m., blasting all day to provide incredible warmth. When the sun disappears around 5 p.m., the heat quickly follows. Although the nights of below-freezing temperatures are apparently at an end, it still gets quite chilly and as long as I can see snow - even if just on distant hills - I am looking forward to a blast of furnace heat in the late evenings and early mornings.
  

• Yesterday I set out on foot to explore the local area. Golden Village is on the edge of Hemet so a right turn from the gate takes you toward dairy farms and a left turn takes you to a series of malls. Thankfully I had dressed in layers; tee-shirt, sweat-shirt, fleece hoodie, jeans, socks, sneakers. By the time I came back in early afternoon, I had peeled off the outer layers and happily changed to light weight clothes and sandals.

• MineRVa is parked with her front-end pointing south. The sun that had been so welcome in the morning had turned her into a hot house. I pulled down my awning only to discover that because of the angle of the sun, the awning wasn’t providing any shade. So, I wandered down the street, picked out a different site facing north and went to the office to arrange a site-change. This was easily done since Golden Village, like the other RV parks I’ve visited, has lots of vacancies at a time of year when they are usually turning folks away.

• I didn’t move to my new site immediately because I do not want to miss the propane man. It will be a bit of work to unhook everything but will be worth the effort since I have already decided to stay here for February as well as January. I made this decision for two reasons: this is a really nice place with friendly people and lots to do, and the national forecast for the next three months isn’t promising anything particularly nice for road travel. As more RVers are arriving from the northern States and Canada they all are reporting lousy travel conditions.
  

• There are lots of activities here at Golden Village. On Saturdays there is always an open hamburger stand and live entertainment down by the pool. Although this week's singer was wearing a winter jacket, she did belt out some familiar 60s tunes which got the 55+ crowd singing along and dancing. The resort’s activity office has ads for all kinds of day-trips and I’m hoping to find one for the 40-mile trip to Disneyland. I can hear Mickey Mouse calling my name so I will find a way to visit the Magic Kingdom.

A Cold and Frosty Morning

• I'm typing with gloves on. It was zero inside the motorhome when I got out of bed at 6:30. When I arrived at Hemet the gas stations were lined up to the max (pre-Christmas rush I presume) so, with 3/4 of a tank I didn't bother to stop. Unfortunately that meant I didn't get propane either.
  

• I Had the furnace on all night Wednesday and Thursday and yesterday discovered the propane was down to 1/4 tank. Friday is usually in-park delivery but it was cancelled because of Boxing Day. Next delivery is not until Tuesday so the options are to drastically conserve or unhook everything and drive. Decided to conserve but by the middle of last night I would have given the kingdom for a tank of propane. Per expert advice, I unhooked my city water supply and left the hot water tank on. My small electric heater is blasting away but it's a slow process. Sun is up so it will warm up fairly quickly, if yesterday is any guage of the next few hours.
  

• Had a cheap sleeping bag on board so followed a tip from an RV magazine and hung it to block off the cab so heat isn't wasted on that. Closed the curtain across the over-cab bed for same reason. Forecast for last night was 28, a full 10 degrees below normal. Current temp is 30. Tonight's forecast is 30. Brrrrr!
  

• Used the microwave to heat water for tea. This is the life, NOT. Weather channel reporting cold, snow, rain, ice and tornadoes elsewhere so I guess this isn't so bad.

• Hope everyone is safe and warm.
  

Frosty the California Christmas

• Where is the time going? My Casa Grande days flew by and too soon it was Palm Creek in the rearview mirror.

• My target for Tuesday was a Flying J at the last exit on the I-10 in Arizona. Pulling off the road early, I spent several hours reading in the coffee shop, silently amused by the ever friendly Flying J waitresses continually and enthusiastically addressing all customers as “honey”, “baby”, “sweetie” and “doll”. Later, I slept to the sound of – or perhaps in spite of - the ‘truckers lullaby’; i.e., the constant humming and changing pitches of about 60 commercial transport trucks.
  

• Christmas Eve day, I crossed the Arizona/California border, stopping at the agricultural checkpoint to assure the guards that I had no produce on board, and watching as roadside cacti gave way a valley of windmills. Having tuned into a country’n’western radio station, I pulled into a Coachilla gas station humming, “bring whiskey for my men and beer for my horses.” From the parking lot, I could see snow on the not-so-high surrounding mountains. Snow in southern California? Yes, snow!

• 

• The I-10 Highway in California has several named sections. Initially it is called the “Veterans Memorial Freeway” and eventually it becomes “Pearl Harbor Memorial Freeway” but passing through the Palm Springs area the military theme is interrupted by the “Sonny Bono Memorial Freeway”.

• The plan to drive to California in two half-day stretches proved a good one since I was fortunate enough to miss pounding rainstorms in both states. At least, I missed them while I was on the road. Arriving at Hemet around noon, I registered at the Golden Village Palms Resort, backed- in and leveled MineRVa at my site, and hooked up to local hydro, water and cablevision marginally ahead of the temperature dropping, the wind coming up and the rain pouring down. I did manage to meet a few neighbours, all very friendly and all grumbling about the cold except for one guy proudly driving an old Army jeep that he rebuilt from pieces.

• And thus, Christmas Eve 2008 found me toasty and warm inside MineRVA, watching “White Christmas” (again), and cozily drifting off to the land of sugar plum visions.

• 

• Christmas Day the weather was dreadful; dark, low clouds, lots of wind, and inevitably lots of rain. Hardly what I expected for a southern California Christmas! Believe it or not, this photo was not taken in black and white, nor was it taken in the evening. This photo was taken at mid-afternoon on Christmas Day.
  

• I went to the clubhouse for happy hour and devoured a wonderful Christmas dinner in the company of people mostly from BC.

• I did get a fabulous Christmas surprise in the form of discovering that a woman who I greatly admire is also staying at this resort. I took a course about ‘solo RVing’ from Joei Carlton Hossack at the Kelowna RV school. Joei is an author with a number of published books about her travel adventures which include having lived full-time in her truck/camper for most of the past 20 years. She is starting a writing club here at Golden Palms and I’m signing up!

• T’is now Boxing Day and the weather, apparently, is going to get worse before it gets better. I wasn’t happy to see frost on my patio chairs this morning and am even less happy about the prospect of unhooking my water connection tonight because the temperature will plunge down to 28, three whole degrees below freezing. Freezing temps predicted for tomorrow night as well, followed by a week of sunny days and steadily increasing temperatures. I sure hope so!

Happy Trails to All and to All a Good Night

• Christmas is a’ coming.
  

• The media are reporting about the impact of continent-wide winter storms on holiday travel and of the economic downturn on Christmas shopping.
  

• When I first arrived in Casa Grande the weather was considerably different. On hot days, in brilliant sunshine, clusters of Monarch butterflies fluttered their way southward for the winter. I presume the incredibly powerful winds of the last few weeks have blown them toward their destination.

• Traditionally, nearly one million Mexican migrants return to their home towns at Christmas time. Welcomed in many impoverished hamlets, they usually return at Christmas loaded down with cash and gifts. Mexican police even accompany the migrants to protect against bandits who target vehicles overflowing with toys, appliances, statues of Christ, TVs and bicycles. This year is different. The money Mexicans send home, Mexico’s second largest source of foreign income, has fallen for the first time in the 12 years since record-keeping began. This year many of the million migrants are returning to Mexico permanently, arriving home empty-handed after losing jobs in America’s economic crisis.

• 

• The Palm Creek Resort is taking on the aura of a ghost town. Elaborate Christmas light displays have been abandoned by Palm Creek residents who have departed to spend Christmas with family in home towns or elsewhere.

• Many of the friends with whom I have shared my Palm Creek days have also departed.
  

• The first to leave were new friends, Lenny and Leone. Theirs is a beautiful love story! Having known each other during high school in Painesville, Ohio, they lost touch as each pursued their separate life; careers, marriages, families. Fifty years later, Lenny was a semi-retired full-time RVer with a home-base in Florida and a relationship with a woman in Boston. Leone had also retired, relocating to California where she busied herself as a full-time grandmother attending play dates and volunteering at her grandchildren’s school. Destiny, in the form of a 50^th high school reunion, intervened to bring them back together. Leone flew from California back to Ohio for the reunion. Lenny diverted from his Florida to Boston route. The conversation started when Lenny accidently spilled a glass of water on Leone as she sat in a local bar chatting with old friends. After the reunion, Lenny couldn’t stop thinking about Leone. Three weeks later, he called her in California to ask if he could come for a visit. Having been unable to stop thinking about Lenny, Leone responded with “How about tomorrow?” Lenny drove across the country and the rest, as they say, is history. Happily married for the last three years, Lenny and Leone interrupted their full-time travels to spend a month at Palm Creek on route to California for Christmas with the grandchildren. Hopefully, our paths will cross again.

• Next to depart was Patti, my friend of more than 15 years. Little did we realize that sharing an apartment for a year would provide the required training to share MineRVa’s much tinier space. As fellow travelers, we also shared the driving to Arizona, the chores and many happy hours of Palm Creek’s laid-back lifestyle; one to which we both quickly adapted. Too soon an airport shuttle whisked Patti away for her flight back to Victoria. That day Happy Hour was celebrated in ‘missing man formation’.

• 

• During this past week, Bob and Melanie from Kamloops also departed.Packing up their motorhome, all-terrain vehicles, bicycles, motorcycle and two cats, they are headed for southern California to rendezvous with a caravan heading for the Baja.

• 

• The last to depart was another friend from Victoria. Surprising me with a brief visit, Morlene arrived bearing champagne and shortbread.Two days later, she headed for the airport to join the crowds of travelers whose Las Vegas flights had been diverted to Phoenix by the unimaginable snowstorm that had hit Sin City.

• I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t feeling a twinge of loneliness as I anticipate the first Christmas of my life when I won’t be with at least some of my family. Instead of checking ferry schedules and anticipating a turkey dinner with my children, I’m busy making a list and checking it twice for my trek from Casa Grande, Arizona, to Hemet, California. I have called ahead to Golden Village Palms and registered for Christmas dinner and the New Year’s Eve party. Yes, it’s going to be different but I will be thinking about my family and all my friends, particularly the ‘usual suspects’ with whom I would ordinarily ring in a New Year.

• All things being relative, the weather outside is frightful! Nighttime temperatures have been consistently dipping to the low 40s (around 5 C), clouds loom overhead threatening the possibility of yet more rain. I’m certain the desert has received more than its usual annual rainfall just during the last two weeks. The little ranger carts are wearing raincoats and I don’t go anywhere without mittens jammed into the pockets of my fleece jacket.

• The only reason I can say I’m enjoying 70 degree (plus 20 C) temperatures is because I’m tucked inside my motorhome with the heater on. My “White Christmas” DVD is getting a workout, as is my collection of Christmas tunes. “…..I’ll be home for Christmas, if only in my dreams.”

• 

• Happy trails to all and to all a good night!

PS: I’m not sure about internet access at Golden Village Palms so there may be some delay before my next posting.

Christmas on the Horizon

• Thanksgiving, celebrated on the last Thursday in November, kick-starts the US Christmas holiday season and apparently is the most significant national holiday for Americans. It is also the pre-amble to Black Friday, traditionally the biggest shopping day of the year. On Thanksgiving Day, the double-priced local newspaper was merely the wrapper for 39 shopping flyers inviting people to start their Black Friday shopping as early as 4 a.m.
  

• Black Friday shopping at the local WalMart didn’t seem particularly crowded, however, the media later reported that at another location, the surging crowd broke down the doors and trampled to death a WalMart greeter, injuring other staff who attempted to rescue their colleague and loudly protesting the interruption occasioned by a police announcement that the store would close to allow for body recovery.

• As in many American towns, the Saturday after Thanksgiving features an Electric Light Parade. For a town of its size, Casa Grande’s Electric Light Parade puts on a very impressive parade. There were more than 80 entries including numerous floats sponsored by local churches, marching bands, and fire trucks belting out Christmas tunes and best wishes. Folks lining the street clapped and cheered for each group, but none got more recognition than the group of uniformed military personnel, whose marching boots provided a reminder of the need to appreciate those who serve at home and abroad.

• Palm Creek residents are engaging in their own pre-Christmas frenzy preparing for judgement in the resort’s annual holiday lighting competition. Each site has its own palm tree and some neighbours seem engaged in a challenge to see who can string the most lights onto a single palm tree and whose lights can be strung the highest. My favourite decoration is actually an electric palm tree. If necessary, I will be knocking on the owner’s door to find out where I can get one for my gadget collection.

• Yes, everyone is getting into the Christmas spirit, including mineRVa. In keeping with her relatively humble stature, mineRVa is strung with only two hundred lights notable only because they are solar powered. I am sure this feature is coveted by neighbours whose hydro meters are spinning like tops.
  

• Seasons Greetings everyone!

Living the Life

• I’ve had several emails inquiring about whether I miss work (the answer is no). Others ask when I realized I didn’t have to go there anymore (answer: I forget already). Still others ask, “What the heck are you doing all day?”

• Well, life at the Palm Creek Resort is not for slackers! Upon arrival, I received a calendar listing the schedule of activities for December. Every day is full, listing up to 20 scheduled options for passing the time while one is supposedly busy doing nothing. Choir, yoga, wood carving, line dancing, square dancing, assorted card games, water exercise, badminton, sewing, bingo, calligraphy and volleyball are all on the schedule. Other activities such as golf, quilting, stained glass, lapidary, library and pickleball are available on an as-you-like it and drop-in basis.
  

• The activities that are keeping me blissfully occupied are watercolour, painting rocks, and my newest pursuit of writing. I’ve even tried my hand at oil painting and, as well, can never resist the eternally unfinished puzzle in the laundry room.
  

• Watercolour and painting rocks are, of course, my artistic home turf, although there is always something new to learn. When preparing for this trip, art supplies were as high on the must-take list as the hundred rolls of toilet paper.

• I picked my first 80 rocks along the road to the local WalMart, arriving there with pockets near-to-dragging on the ground. Each of those nuggets provides a perfect platform for an Arizona sunset design and I whipped off 30 within a few days.

• I have always thought that oil painting would be easier than watercolour because you can keep painting over your blunders until you get results you like. However, unlike watercolour or the acrylic paints I use for painting rocks, oil paint takes a month or more to dry. For me the trade-off doesn’t seem worth the delayed artistic gratification.

• I took an all-day oil painting lesson fashioned after those TV shows where the artist produces a completed oil painting in a half-hour. In my case, it took six hours to complete the assigned project, following a method eerily reminiscent of paint-by-number. At the end of the day I carted home a framed painting and the next day concluded that I’ll be best served by sticking to what I know rather than boring myself to death watching oil paint dry for a whole month. (Frame for sale!)

• At the writers’ club, each person has the opportunity to read aloud their choice of something they’ve written. A second reading opportunity is available to those who accept the weekly ‘writing challenge’. Of course the purpose of reading aloud is to get feedback from the group. The club includes a published author, another who is completing a university writing program and two who read excerpts from their own well developed draft novels. To say I felt somewhat intimidated at the prospect of reading my own work out loud is to seriously understate the level of my intimidation. I read an entry from my blog. Buoyed by the real or imagined positive reinforcement from the writers’ club, I sprang out of bed at 5:30 the next morning to complete work on this week’s writing challenge: Create a non-political, David Letterman-style top 10 list.

• Of course, no good life would be complete without chores, the dailies of which include pressing the buttons to check the battery, fresh water, propane, and black and water holding tanks. It is important do to the latter every day since you wouldn’t want to learn the hard way that the holding tanks, especially the black one, is full.

• It’s December 15 and I must report that the weather here in southern Arizona has taken a nasty turn, in keeping with the current weather for the entire continent. From the end of the street I have watched distant hills masked by sand storms on the desert. This uncharacteristic weather has included more rain and as I write this at nearly 11 a.m. the temperature has not reached 50 F. That’s only about 10 C. Brrrrrr! On with my fleece clothes!

The Weather Report

• According to published information, Casa Grande, Arizona, has a dry desert climate. Annual rainfall is about 8.5 inches. Average temperatures in December are daytime highs of 67 (20+ in Canadian) and nighttime lows around 40 (about 4 C). I think these are decent daytime highs and the nighttime lows I don’t care about since my motorhome has a furnace.

• When the sun goes down, which it does quite quickly and spectacularly shortly after 4:30 p.m., the temperature follows. Air conditioners are switched off and furnaces switched on to ward off the chill of the desert night. My at-home habit of crawling into bed early to watch TV or chat on the phone has been replaced by a holiday habit of crawling into bed early to devour a few chapters of an all-time favourite book before drifting into a sound night’s sleep. I brought a stash of such books from home, collected over many years, each one a treasured friend. One book with more than 600 pages has a cover price of $3.95, which gives you an idea of just how long I’ve had some of these books.
  

• The day I arrived in Casa Grande the temp was about 75 F. Happily, I shed my blue jeans in favour of shorter, lightweight pants that I’d bought from a beach vendor in Mexico. Ahh, it was perfect!
  

• After the eight-day drive from Victoria to Arizona, the knowledge that the following day would be strictly for relaxation made the prospect of retreating to the over-cab bunk even more enticing than usual. As I climbed the ladder, I recited the rules of over-cab sleeping. The first rule is: don’t sit up in the dark because the 24-inch clearance between the mattress and the roof means you just might knock yourself out. The second rule is: don’t hop out of bed because there’s a 54-inch drop to the floor. Of course, it’s not the drop that hurts so much; it’s the sudden stop at the bottom.

• My peaceful night of zzz’ing and sweet dreams was suddenly interrupted by a drumming sound on the roof that startled me awake and almost caused me to break both of the over-cab rules. Less than 20 inches above my head, I could almost feel the first odd beats and then the steady hammering to which they quickly escalated. I’ve heard that sound many times before but was jarred by the context of this being a dry desert climate. Yes, the familiar beat of a west coast winter howling storm driving raindrops against the window like tiny rockets. Looking out, I could see the palm fronds slashing back and forth in the wind and light reflecting off the torrent of water that was streaming down the middle of the street. I could picture all those dry lakes, creek beds and gullies I’d seen along the road filling up with water and I wondered how many folks were stranded in those areas posted with “Flash Flood” warning signs.

• Casa Grande storm drains consist of open cement gullies. Palm Creek Resort has its very own, called ‘the canal’, and the entire resort is actually slanted toward the man-made lake on the golf course. Those drains got a work-out that night. And the next day. And the day after that. Thunder. Lightening. The whole nine yards of nasty weather that folks like me came to Arizona hoping to avoid.
  

• I think the official word to describe the weather since then would be ‘variable’ which seems to mean ‘maybe it’ll be nice; maybe it won’t.’ The promise of a return to sunny days and hot temperatures looms like a carrot on a stick.
  

• On cloudy days, silver linings come in the form of spectacular sunsets. The cloudier the better for replacing the usual orangey-yellow smudge on the southwest horizon with bright pink streaks streaming across a brilliant blue sky, followed by clouds that appear to have burst into flames of radiant orange and fiery red. It is well worth the interruption to hot desert weather just to see those sunsets.

Palm Creek has a monthly craft sale at which outside vendors set up tables to peddle their wares. Along with the usual array of Christmas crafts, leather belts, jewelry, kitchen gadgets and magic creams guaranteed to reverse all signs of aging, there was a long table laden with fleece pants and jackets. As I rummaged through the fleece in search of some ‘seasonal wear’, the vendor told me that he can pick out the new arrivals by their skimpy clothing. When they question why anyone in Arizona would need fleece clothing, he just smiles and says, “See you next month.”

• This morning I donned my fleece pants and jacket for a walk to the library in search of the morning newspapers. While there, I checked the national weather map to see what’s happening in places closer to home. In Seattle where temperatures are somewhat lower than in Victoria, yesterday’s high and low were 47 and 44 F (about 8 and 4 in Canadian). In Bismark, North Dakota, which allows a reasonable basis for guesstimating Winnipeg temperatures, the high and low were 42 and 13 (which roughly converts to +5 and -11 C).

• Hey, folks, I’m feeling warmer already!

Palm Creek 411

• Palm Creek is indeed a first-class resort! As a 24-foot C-class motorhome, MineRVa seems somewhat the country-bumpkin in the line-up of 35, 40 and 45-foot mega-expensive, luxury A-class motorhomes. Many of these arrive towing companion luxury vehicles or ‘toy boxes’ from which are unloaded the luxury vehicles in combination with an assortment of all-terrain vehicles, golf carts, and bicycles. As well, there are various permanent park model housing units, the most prestigious of which line the resort’s 18-hole private golf course. One part of the resort is designated as the pet area and in the no-pet zones one dare not harbour so much as a goldfish.

• Upon arrival, each RV is met by a greeter who takes basic information and assigns a ‘ranger’ who leads the way to an assigned site, oversees parking and reads the electricity meter. Although water is free, electricity is not and the meter is again read prior to preparing the departure bill. The registration process includes obtaining a photo i.d. card which the rules declare must dangle from one’s neck at all times. An offender of this rule is all but shunned and certainly will not be sold so much as postage stamp by resort staff.

• The resort has very strict standards and reserves the right to turn away any RV that does not meet those standards. By the time the ranger had guided me to my site, I realized that mineRVa, my darling but lowly four-year old 24-foot C-class, was lucky to have passed muster. If Palm Creek had railroad tracks, mineRVa may well have been assigned a spot on the other side of them. In walking around the entire resort, I saw only one other C-Class and concluded that by Palm Creek standards, the C in C-class may stand for “Clampet” (which those knowledgeable about vintage television will recognize as the family name of “The Beverly Hillbillies”).

• Members of the resort community can volunteer for a variety of fun jobs, not to be confused with non-fun jobs like cleaning toilets or spraying palm trees to ward off scorpions and black widow spiders that may have wandered in from the desert. While on duty, the volunteer greeters wear official Palm Creek tee-shirts, computer room monitors get free internet access and rangers – which looks like the funnest job of all - roam around the resort in official golf carts bearing ‘ranger’ signs, front and back.

• When it comes to trash, the recycling options seem limited to paper, plastic and ‘everything else’. Early one morning, while delivering trash to the assigned bins, I encountered a man who to my surprise was a park resident volunteering time to fish paper and plastic out of the main garbage bins. In agreeing with my comment that recycling options are somewhat limited as compared to ‘back home’, he disclosed that he’s from Victoria. He mentioned being a retired Victoria city police officer and I suggested our paths may have crossed when I worked at Police Services Division of the BC provincial government. Yes, he said, I think I recognize your voice. When he later mentioned having worked for BC’s top-secret police agency dedicated investigating organized crime, I couldn’t help but wonder if that explained, at least in part, his apparent enthusiasm for poking around in other people’s garbage.
  

• Within my first few days at the resort, I did a full walk-about. There are currently 1911 sites with a plan to double that number. With the economic slow-down now being officially recognized as a recession, I suspect the expansion plan may now be on hold. The occupancy rate is one-third below what was anticipated during the pre-recession days of September. In the southwest section of the resort where the sites are laid out in rows of 40, there may be as few as 5 sites per row that are occupied. In addition to the brand-new park models displayed for sale on the “Street of Dreams”, there is a for-sale sheet, listing over a hundred units for sale by owner. Although many prices have been reduced there doesn’t seem to be anything on the market for less than $125,000.
  

• The Palm Creek community includes Canadians and Americans from every province and state. Many Palm Creekers have been coming here for years and many have extended their basic park models to include huge covered patios or decks, car ports, extra bedrooms or “Arizona rooms” that house fire places and 50-inch televisions supported by super-sized satellite dishes.
  

• Although the population of Casa Grande is over 38,000, there is no public transportation system. For some resort residents, local transportation options range from the Corvettes and Buicks to motorcycles, scooters and private golf carts that look like Flintstone cars. As well there are countless one-speed bicycles and needless to say mine are not the only feet getting a workout.

Still on the Desert but Here at Last!

The last road-night was spent at Gila Bend which is fairly close to the US/Mexico border. Accordingly, the night could have been marked off in half-hour increments by the criss-crossing serenade of Border Patrol helicopters. It is amazing, however, that this noise, not unlike the sound of trains and planes, is one to which the human body can quickly and thankfully adjust.

• Highway I-8 cuts across the Sonoran Desert National Monument, where, on the last road-morning, a spectacular sunrise silhouetted thousands of saguaro cacti. Prickly arms raised in welcome, I am certain they were cheering us on to the final destination: Casa Grande, Arizona.
  

• After eight days, one dog-eared scribbled-upon spreadsheet with matching notebook, about 1,856 miles and $481.59 US dollars worth of gas ….. mineRVa finally glided along an imaginary red carpet and through the gates of the Palm Creek Golf and RV Resort. Whew! It is nice to be stationary and with almost a full month ahead before battening down the hatches to hit the road again.
  

• Having taken care of the business of leveling mineRVa, turning on the propane, and hooking up to the local water and electrical outlets, I cracked open a bottle of ready-made Margaritas. Purchased in the local WalMart “liquor and cold beer” aisle, $15.64 buys 1.75 litres of limey delight! With the late afternoon sun dropping toward the southwestern hills, we filled our glasses and set out in search of Bob and Melanie Ashton who had arrived from Kamloops a week earlier. Groups of neighbours, gathered on patios to toast the setting sun, called out welcoming hellos. Happy Hour, it seems is de rigueur. I’d say there’s a good chance I’m going to fit right in!

• And thus the first Palm Creek Happy Hour passed, swilling margaritas and swapping stories. Bob and Melanie are both instructors at the Kelowna RV School that I went to last June. We made fast friends and it was the Ashtons who gifted me with the coupon that is getting me a month at this swank resort for a mere $199. The Ashtons will be here until mid-December when they depart for Southern California to rendezvous with a group for a 14-day tour of the Baja. At Kelowna I took a course about RV’ing on the Baja from a wonderful woman named Gillian. She lived many years in Mexico, was the first travel agent on the Baja and from late fall to early spring, Gillian lives in her motorhome on a Baja beach. This year she has organized a tour group and kindly invited me to come along. While this prospect was initially enticing, my enthusiasm waned as I learned about the Baja roads and driving conditions. The list of must-bring spare parts includes ‘at least one side-view mirror’ since a mirror loss can be the price of safe passage when an on-coming vehicle is encountered. Apparently, roads can be as narrow as 12 feet, with no shoulders but instead, a minimum two-foot straight drop-off on either side. When the Ashtons, who have been RVing for 20 years, commented that the Baja adventure would stretch their driving comfort zone, I decided to count myself out and am sticking to that decision.

• Ta ta for now. I’ve got to dash over to the front office to complete my registration and start exploring the resort…..
  

P.S.

• When I first realized that my Palm Creek month ends December 24, I called the resort to inquire about staying another week or perhaps a month longer. The quoted rate of $900 per month persuaded me that a road trip at Christmas could be a good thing and Christmas Eve in a Wal-Mart parking lot might be an adventure.
  

• Just before leaving Victoria, however, I decided to forego the Wal-Mart Christmas and reserved a spot at Golden Village Palms Resort in Hemet, California, where, conveniently, I have a “half-off for a week” coupon. I will actually stay there for 5 weeks. This was a fortuitous decision since the only two WalMarts we’ve checked have both been “overnight unfriendly” with tow-away signs at all entrances. When we pulled into the WalMart at Barstow, we had barely crossed the property line when a security guard frantically waved us down and said we couldn’t park a motorhome in the lot, even to shop.

Still Crossing the Desert

• Once across the California/Arizona border, we right-turned off I-40 onto southbound AZ 95. Quartzsite, Arizona, for those who have never heard of it, is an incredibly desolate place, famous among RVers for free or cheap camping. Like Las Vegas, Quartzsite is one of those places you have to see for yourself. For about $60 a month you can pull out onto the desert at Quartzsite and stay as long as you want. No electricity, no water, no sewer hook-ups and you’re on your own in the event of a flash flood (road sign warnings for a hundred miles in all directions). No mention of rattle snakes but that warning, I presume, is too obvious to warrant signage. Well, folks, I have now been to Quartzsite, seen it, and assure you there is no flipping way I will ever be staying there!

• Continuing south, AZ 95 passes through an enormous military area called the “Yuma Proving Ground”. I’m not sure what is being proved; other than that camels cannot survive the climate (which is a true fact I read in a local book). “Danger: keep out” signs appear every quarter mile or so on both sides of the road. Off to the right, a line of tanks rumbled across the desert. A string of 8 helicopters flew overhead at precise intervals. Then, high above and far away, something strange and huge! I wondered if I might be lucky enough to be seeing the space shuttle returning to Earth for a desert landing. (Hey, you never know, it could happen.) Using binoculars, Patti determined it was a huge balloon; kind of like the Good Year blimp hovering over a football game. We later learned this blimp is actually a military device called “the eye in the sky”. It can see everything for 50 miles, including licence plates and the time of day on a person’s watch. I’m certain that we weren’t long in the Yuma Proving Ground before ‘they’ knew exactly where we are from and who we are.
  

• About 60 miles north of the US/Mexico border, there was a set-up beside the road that I guessed – by the huge flood lights - might be a movie set. It turned out to be a real-thing US Border Patrol Check Point; heavily armed, uniformed military with a fleet of vehicles obviously at-the-ready for high-speed pursuits on-road or off and packs of mean-looking sniffer dogs. The gigantic floodlights must have been for spotting night-time runaways or perhaps for intense interrogations. Lucky for me, only northbound vehicles were being stopped but I slowed right down for gawking purposes before heading on my way. Good thing I got my gawking out of the way because once headed east on I-8 out of Yuma, another Border Patrol Check Point was stopping all eastbound vehicles which included mine.
  

• Under the piercing gaze of a Border Patrol Officer, we stopped. My heart almost stopped when in response to the question “are you Americans?” I (the driver) said “No. We’re Canadians” at the same time as Patti (the passenger) blurted out, “Yes. We’re Americans” followed by a blustery, “no we’re not. I meant to say we’re Canadians.” (Needless to say, we later had a conversation about the rule that when stopped by the authorities, only the driver speaks and the passengers keep their mouths shut.) Fortunately, Mr. BPO, eyes darting toward the rear, was moving on to the more important question, “Is there anyone else onboard this vehicle?” I’m sure the credibility of our synchronized, high-pitched, “no, there isn’t” reply was bolstered by our Canadian accents and un-tanned skin. We were waved on without further questioning or the need for searches of any kind.

• I’m sure Mr. BPO had bigger fish to fry, so to speak. To me, he looked very much like a Mexican-American and I suspect there is no BPO more committed to the task of rooting out illegal Mexican immigrants than one who has crossed the border legally.

Roadside Saints and Other Protectors

• Needles, California, is known to me only for the frequency with which the town ranks number one hottest spot in the US. There was no intention of stopping in Needles other than to score cold drinks and switch drivers. Thus we pulled into the combination Dairy Queen/Shell gas station, looped around the gravel back-lot and came to a stop.

• An older guy, not immediately recognizable as a roadside saint (RS), happened to be out back putting trash into the bin. He waved us over and said, “Looks like you girls are working on a flat. Passenger side, front. Pull around and I’ll fill it for you.” When we hopped out to check, it was obvious the tire was going down.

• As the RS attached the air hose, he cautioned that the tire was in really bad shape. “Michelin,” he said, “they’re no damn good. You’re going to have to replace it soon.” Having had previous experience with replacing a full set of no-damn-good-Michelins on my car, this wasn’t exactly news but it sure wasn’t the kind of news I wanted to hear out in the middle of a desert. Being a low-risk sort of person, I asked about replacing the tire and indeed the matching no-damn-good-Michelin on the driver’s side. The garage owner, another RS, came out to talk tire type and cost. Having been advised, about 1,500 miles earlier back home in Victoria, that the rear tires would probably need replacing by the end of my trip, the cursed no-damn-good-Michelin name now screamed at me from the rear tire sidewalls. By then the front tires were off and I’m sure I paled at the sight of treads that seemed to be hanging on by a few lousy threads. So I asked the RS to give me a price on a full set of six tires. Obviously the Needles economy is suffering as much as everywhere else and this potential sale music to the RS’s ears. We struck a deal to upgrade to commercial grade tires at no extra cost and replace the valves on all six tires.

• An hour later when we pulled back onto the scorching desert highway I was still feeling anxiety knowing how close we came to a front tire blow-out and perhaps a major disaster.

• Yes, I believe everything happens for a reason, even a per-chance stop for a cold drink and driver change. I am convinced the Needles RSs saved my life. And, I’m certain this happened with a full measure of assistance from the legion of guardian angels dispatched from heaven in answer to my Mother’s prayers to keep me safe on my journey. (Thanks, Mom!)
  

The Desert is a Hot, Dry Place

• After veering off the I-5 onto the more-populated US 99, passing through the olive groves, citrus orchards, vineyards, rice patties, and the raisin capital of central California, we reached Bakersfield and turned east into the desert on I-40.

• The desert wasn’t quite what I had expected. By comparison to some dry, dusty, wind-swept, forlorn places I’ve seen on the Canadian prairies, the desert actually has lots of vegetation; plenty of sagebrush that looks almost strategically planted, row after row after row in the endless sand.
  

• On the hilltops hydro windmills began to appear, first a few and then crowds of them looking much like a line of movie-style Indians slowly appearing along the top of a ridge, surrounding and signaling doom to a hapless wagon train. As the miles passed and the desert went on and on, Patti and I frequently commented about wagon trains, piteously wondering how could they possibly have made the trek? As for those windmills, I don’t know how much they were contributing to the State’s power grid since some were spinning wildly while many others stood dead still. Perhaps those were the unionized windmills enjoying a flex day. Or maybe those were the supervisors.

• Once in a while a patch of green appeared in the distance. Occasionally, there were some odd clusters of old motorhomes set well back from the road (birthplace of cults… just the kind where I imagine Charles Mason and Jim Jones got their starts). And then, barely visible through the dust and smog, a series of buildings so enormous I could hardly believe they were real. Exit after exit announced unwelcomingly: “Edwards Air Force Base: No Services”. Presumed translation: keep out - or else. Edwards Air Force Base was the first evidence I spotted of the US military’s apparently considerable presence in the desert of California and Arizona.

Notes from the Road to Arizona

• Although I had anticipated savouring a farewell look at the fabulous view from my 12th floor apartment and the sights along the Pat Bay Highway on route to the ferry, Sunday morning was one of Victoria’s foggier and, other than the immediate road ahead of me, very little was visible between home and the mainland.

• That first “day on the road” was a short one, ending within a half hour from the ferry, on the Canadian side of the border so my kids could come for a visit. Because a 24-foot motorhome doesn’t readily seat 7 for dinner, I must confess we did eat out.

• No problem at the border…..except….having responded to the question “where do you work?” with “BC Government”, the Border Guard wanted to know, “what’s your actual job?” Of course, I don’t have an actual job right now so I fudged a bit, citing the job I have left behind. Hey, I’m not in border jail, so I must have sounded somewhat credible.

• It felt wonderful to be zooming along the I-5 highway, watching Mount Baker and subsequently Mount Rainier fade into the northern background. Didn’t get so much as a glimpse of Mount St. Helen’s, however, since it was somewhere in the fog – at least, I hoped it was fog, because it looked much the same as that famous shroud of day-after-eruption dust.

• Having been distracted by a trip to Camping World and then getting sucked into an RV park membership presentation in exchange for a $50 gas card, we broke a cardinal rule of motorhome travel, i.e., get off the road before dark.

• No luck getting into either of the known campgrounds but a phone call led us to a combination motel/RV park where we would be, apparently, welcome for a night. It is probably just as well we arrived after dark and couldn’t see much of the surroundings because, as we were doing the hook-ups under the watchful eye of the kindly manager, he proudly bragged that he had cleared out all the drug dealers and had warned the residents that if they continued to use drugs he would call the police himself. That night as I lay in my bunk, I recalled in incredible, vivid and horrific detail a number of true-crime books I’ve read about various scoundrels who plundered the I-5 with their serial killing exploits.

• Things happen for a reason. Tuesday afternoon we pulled off the highway – early, needless to say – at the Seven Feathers Casino in Oregon. Having got into the wrong lane at the exit we missed the turn toward free parking and ended up at what can only be described as a skookum resort, complete with a casino shuttle service and a value card to get started on the gambling. Of course we couldn’t dash right over there because as soon as the water was turned on, there was a minor flood in the kitchen and bathroom. The first of the “roadside saints” came to the rescue, a guy named Bill from Portland. Bill dashed over from the next site, armed with flashlight, wrench and determination to find and solve the problem. Bill was returning from Reno to Portland with his Australian wife and her Australian relatives who, he said, after 35 years had not quite forgiven him for the wife’s decision to end her youthful trip to America with marriage and migration.

• Wednesday we availed ourselves of the first opportunity for free overnight parking at a Flying J truck stop in Corning California. This mega gas station can accommodate about 150 commercial transport trucks, has a welcoming staff, a great restaurant and gifts for all. This being America, the gift area features a huge stock of rifle and gun cases, with nicely textured aluminum exteriors and black egg-shell foam interiors. Hey, I’m sure nothing is too good for totin’ your guns! This was my second reminder in two days that Americans take very seriously their right to bear arms. In the previous day’s local newspaper for a place called Benton County, Oregon (population approx. 79,000) an article described a freedom-of-information request to disclose information about all persons to whom the County had issued a “permit to carry concealed weapon.” The purpose of the article was to alert all 2,000-plus such persons of their right to have the County withhold their personal information; a right that seems consistent with the whole notion of “concealed”.

• A huge motorhome, probably 40 feet long and towing an SUV pulled into the far corner of the Flying J. Although the preliminary assessment was “rich folks heading south”, it turned out to be a repo man who had just seized the motorhome and was towing his own vehicle behind so he could drive home after delivering the motorhome to a foreclosure compound. That was one of many, many, many signs of the unhappy state of the US economy. Other signs have included local newspapers – the kind with 20 pages maximum – that have page after page after page of foreclosure sale listings. One RV park host said that a year ago there would have been no room for someone (like me) pulling off the road for a night. This year, that same place is two-thirds empty. In Phoenix, house prices dropped by 38% during the month of October. Wherever we saw a TV, folks would stop talking to watch news reports about the economy, and nobody was smiling.

• Of course some folks have more troubles than others; always an inspiration to count one’s personal blessings. At one RV park, I met an interesting young woman named Sarah who has two children, both under the age of two years. Having returned from Arizona to California so her husband could help his ailing father, a roofer, with a failing business, Sarah’s husband – who is clearly not a roofer – had just broken both arms and a leg after falling off a 14-foot ladder. Sarah was fretting about the pending drive home with babies and invalid but she was even more concerned about her husband’s inability to work and pay the bills. Sarah is, however, a Christian who truly believes that Jesus is going to make this work out for her. Yes, these are tough times for many and, it seems for some like Sarah, if it weren’t for bad luck she’d have no luck at all.
  

…..to be continued.

Farewell Weekend

A week of farewell lunches, dinners and last minute shopping. On Saturday I maneuvered mineRVa through James Bay and backed her into the tiny portal between the apartment building and parkade for loading. Ok, I admit it’s not that tiny and does accommodate garbage trucks and moving vans – but it was an achievement for me. Sharon and Nick, the building managers (and former RVers) had duly authorized the parking but that didn’t stop some of the building’s griping grannies from complaining “she’s not allowed to park there.” I think they were just jealous!

Those who know me well will not be surprised that the worldly possessions accompanying me on this magnificent adventure had been packed into containers selected for their fit into mineRVa’s cabinets. Each container was numbered and the number and contents recorded in a notebook for ready reference. The notebook, the spreadsheet I had created of places, distances, exits, and RV parks, and a bible called “The Next Exit” would be within easy reach at all times.

With my scooter securely perched above mineRVa’s back bumper and the containers onboard, I headed to the Heron Rock Bistro to enjoy a few cosmos and an early New Year’s celebration. As the crowning touch of the evening, Andrew, one of the Heron Rock’s owners, asked if I might have time to select a few painting for display in the restaurant during the Christmas season. I’m sure there’s no need to tell you how good that made me feel! (Patti has been entrusted with that task upon her return to Victoria.)

Stay tuned.....

6 more sleeps

Although I generally consider myself to be fairly well organized, with 6 sleeps to go, I’m starting to wonder. Every day I thank my lucky stars that I wasn’t planning to head straight to the ferry after my last day of work.

It will come as no surprise to many that the biggest screw-ups have come compliments of those to whom the BC government has entrusted the Deferred Salary Leave Program money (MY money) and benefits (MY benefits.)

At one point the money-holder-who-shall-go-nameless said I had saved post-tax dollars so no tax will be payable. Although ideal, that info was of course too good to be true and they next gave the scary advice that no tax had been paid, they wouldn’t do a hold-back and I was on my own to deal with Revenue Canada. Having heard nothing from them in recent months, I followed up to make sure they had received my void cheque to facilitate direct deposits. Consistent with the scary theme, I suspected I might be speaking to someone off-shore when my inquiry “did you receive my void cheque?” was met with “how much was the void cheque for?” Two phone calls later, I learned a “small error” had resulted in payments starting in October instead of November. I found the deposit on my bank statement, did some quick math (payment X 12), and concluded that if the advice I had received was even close to accurate, I’m out by close to $20,000. More phone calls to finally learn income tax had indeed been withheld – and plenty of it! Needless to say I made an immediate appointment with a tax professional who will manage this in my absence.

As for the benefits screw-up…..I learned through my local pharmacist that while the benefits managers were quick to terminate my regular benefits they had forgotten to flip the switch on the continued benefits for which they had already cashed my cheque. I won’t bore anyone with the details of my conversation with them and, with that, will end this rant!

MineRVa is still at the mechanical shop, getting new rear brakes and a few other do-dads, but otherwise in tip-top shape. I’ve been tearing around every day, crossing things off my do list and have even started packing up my stuff. By sundown on Saturday, I’ll be ready to roll and will spend the evening sipping cosmos and feasting at the Heron Rock Bistro.

The rez for Sunday’s 11 a.m. ferry is posted on the fridge next to the countdown calendar on which the days are excitedly being X’d off. Sunday’s journey will be short, ending at the Peace Arch RV Park where my fab children (Robyn & her guy Fabian, Jodi and her sweetheart Kevin, and Jamison) will join me for a traditional Murphy family celebration dinner, i.e., Kentucky fried chicken.

For those who don’t know, Patti is coming on the first part of the trip – from Victoria to Casa Grande, Arizona. She is completely caught up in my excitement!

I have just seen the most magnificent double rainbow which, I swear, moved across James Bay and touched my balcony. Such beauty! Such inspiration! Such an omen of all good things coming my way!

Gotta dash…..

So much to do

With 10 years of dreaming and 4 years of saving behind me, it is now 16 days until take-off. Yes, I have yet another countdown calendar.

The motorhome - I call her "Minerva" - is at the dealership for a once-over. Next week, she'll get the mechanical checks. My bedroom looks like a second-hand store (a very messy one) as I marshall the "must-take" items. The do-list seems to be getting longer instead of shorter!

So much to do, so little time! To everyone who is wishing me well, I assure you I'm already having more fun than even I imagined.

Stay tuned!