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.