desert – Page 4 – The MoHo and Other Traveling Tales

Why we do it

This:

Is why we do

This:

Oregon is beautiful, even in winter, but sometimes the desert calls and we just have to make the journey south to find that unknown “something” that is tucked away in desert landscapes. The trouble with this plan is that the deserts that are warm enough for winter camping require the long journey south through California.

I have stories to write, thoughts to put down, but tonight I am worn and the writing will come later. In the mean time, I am listening to the desert silence east of Lancaster where we are the only campers in a park containing 44 spaces. I need to go outside in the deep darkness and check the night skies, I need to listen for coyotes. Several hundred miles behind us now and we are slowing down, stopping to breathe and listen and be still. The desert does that.

Pahrump to Fernley and home to Rocky Point

I can’t believe that I am once again sitting at my desk in Rocky Point, looking out the window at snow. The snow came down in big fat flakes all day yesterday but didn’t stick, but this morning we woke to more than a good inch covering everything as if it were winter and not April. Somehow luck was with us all the way home, and we slid into Rocky Point on bare pavement under blue skies on Tuesday afternoon. This storm blew up the next day and now will be with us for a few more days according to the weather predictions. I am hoping that all the folks on the road heading north are warm and dry and avoiding this latest round of weather from the Pacific.

We left Pahrump early in the morning on Monday, driving hard and straight north on Highway 95, through the tiny town of Goldfields, and passing Tonopah, the Nye county seat, in the blink of an eye. Somewhere in all my western travels, I don’t think I have traveled this route, usually preferring to go west to 395 in California. We were rewarded with decent gasoline prices, at 3.69 per gallon for the $172.00 fill-up in Fallon, Nevada. I heard rumors of prices well above 4 bucks on 395, but will have to see what Donna and Russ have to say about that, since I believe they traveled that route south in their pretty new Lazy Days called “Therapy”. I think we must have passed each other somewhere close to Susanville.


*Goldfields, Nevada in the process of restoration by the local folks*	*We were on the other side of Tonopah before we knew it*

The skies were clear all the way north, but the temperatures were only in the high 40’s as we traveled through Nevada. Our plan was to boondock for the night, but when we reached Fallon, it was still only 3 in the afternoon, and once on the major east-west route of ALT 50, boondock sites were in short supply. The lovely BLM land, great for boondocking, all seemed to be considerably south of Walker Lake, another spot that I would have liked to explore, but it was much to early in the day. Like horses heading for the barn, we were on a roll and wanted to get as close to Reno as possible before stopping for the night.

A quick search on Streets, turned up a CampClub USA park west of Fallon in Fernley, Nevada, right on our route. My visions of camping in the open desert on a big alluvial fan with never ending vistas was only partially realized. I was still on an alluvial fan in the desert, with a decent view only obstructed a bit by the RV next to us. By 4pm we were settled in to a very nice little park called Desert Rose. In addition to our CampClub discount, this park had just about every other club discount, including Escapees. It wasn’t fancy, but clean and lined with level concrete pads, new trees, grass, and “the best cable TV this side of Michigan”, according to the very gregarious caretaker. We even had decent Wi-Fi where I was able to post the last couple of blog entries.

We slept well, after staying up much too late catching up on cable news and the internet. Tuesday morning dawned clear and gorgeous again, if a bit cool, and we were on the road by 7:30. Our route was straightforward, through Reno on Alt 50 to I-80 to 395 north to Susanville, Alturas, and then on 39 home to Klamath Falls. The skies were still gorgeous, with puffy clouds and snowy mountains in the distance as we approached our mountain home.

We love to camp at Medicine Lake, and the snow covered barren slopes of Glass Mountain, formed entirely of black obsidian, beckoned us as we passed the familiar turn-off on our route.

Once in Klamath Falls, we gassed up the MoHo at Fred Meyer for 3.72 per gallon, picked up some vet only cat food for Jeremy, and took the Lakeshore route home so that we could stop in at Moore Park for our free dump site. Klamath Lake seemed especially full, and the A Canal delivering water from the lake to the farmers on the Project was also full, indicating that for the first time in a couple of years, we are having a good “water year”. The farmers will get their irrigation from the Project, and the salmon will have enough water to make it back up the Klamath River. We will have enough water to get the kayaks back out in Recreation Creek hopefully very soon, at least if this snow ever melts.

Once home, we were happy to see that almost all the snow was melted and the road looked fine. The grass was starting to green up except for extensive areas where the voles have tunneled a virtual city protected by our 4 month snow cover. Daffodils are starting to appear, and the buds on the trees look good. Mo backed the rig into her waiting berth and in no time we were unloaded and back home with the fire going, checking the recorded shows on the DVR and laughing at Jeremy racing around the house after all the invisible ghosts that must have taken over while we were gone.

Something wonderful about rounding this bend in the road and seeing our home turf across the lake

I spent all day yesterday washing bedding and rugs and clothes from the MoHo and tried to get adjusted to being back home while I watched the snow fall and remembered the 100 degree afternoon in Laughlin. Sometimes that re-entry can be ambivalent; I’m so happy to be home, yet somehow feel a bit disoriented. Mo doesn’t seem to get as confused by all this as I do, and she just settled in easily to our home routines without a hitch. By this morning, however, all seemed just fine to me, in spite of the deep snow. I have no clue if I will be working next week, thanks to the government shutdown rumors, but either way, it’s good to be home.

Pahrump, Shoshone, and the China Ranch

The drive from Laughlin up the hill to Highway 95 toward Vegas is steep, but not really very long and we rolled up the hill in the morning sunlight. Another possible stop on our route was Boulder City, where a soil scientist friend had promised a cold drink and a copy of his presentation on the Spirit Mountains. Again, it was not to be. I only heard about the RV search at Hoover Dam after we had already decided to re-route around Las Vegas traffic as much as possible and skip the drive across the new bridge at the dam.

The drive to Pahrump was short, just under 160 miles, and the road was great. We managed to skirt the worst of the Las Vegas traffic on the south side of the city, staring in awe at the miles and miles of low brown stucco homes covering the desert. Highway 160, west from Las Vegas, is part of the Old Spanish Trail and winds through the Red Rock Canyon National Conservation Area and crosses the beautiful Spirit Mountains at Mountain Springs. Once through the pass, the wide desert vista of the Pahrump Valley opens up to the west. As Mo drove the smooth, even highway, I started checking out the Streets and Trips listings of Camp Club USA parks in Pahrump. We called a couple of places, discovering that once again, no one had cable, but the Charleston Peak Winery RV Park was on our list, and had an opening for our club, 1/2 price at 20 bucks once more.

There are many RV parks in the area, and we toured around town checking them out the next day, but still were happy with our choice, especially at the price. Once settled in on the high fan above town, with an unbroken view of Charleston Peak to the east, we were especially tickled. The swimming pool was closed for the evening, but it was just a few hundred yards to the tasting room at the “only” or “first” winery in Nevada. I am still not sure which, but I suppose I could look that up eventually. The winery said one thing and the chamber said another, so which is true?.

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Seven tastings are offered for free, and even though they no longer grow their own grapes except for a very small vineyard, they made some award winning cabernet from Sonoma grapes. The original vineyards planted were destroyed a few years ago by wild horses. Mo stayed with Abby and I enjoyed sitting in the unpretentious, intimate little tasting room with award winning wine while Mo settled for a glass of chardonnay in the MoHo.

The evening was much cooler than any we have experienced in a couple of weeks, with a wild, blustery wind blowing across the desert. I’m not quite sure why, but even in that wind our slide topper didn’t seem to flap too much. Maybe it’s a different kind of construction than some. So far it hasn’t been a problem. Charleston Peak was brilliant snowy white against the dark cloudy skies to the east, with the western skies clear enough for a gorgeous sunset.

Sunday was our day to relax and explore more of the area south and west of Pahrump. When we traveled to Death Valley in 2004, we had a rented car, (pre MoHo days!) and spent a lot of time exploring the park. It was time for something different, and with the help of the excellent Discover Pahrump brochure, we mapped out a route.

West of Pahrump, Highway 372 changes to 178 when you cross into California, crossing a small range of mountains and opening up to another valley. The tiny community of Shoshone lies in the heart of the valley, a pleasant stop for folks traveling farther west or north into Death Valley. It was a nice stop for us as well, and with the price of gas, we were glad we had filled up the tracker back in Nevada and a mere 3.69 per gallon. Shoshone is full of crusty characters, and has a history of fascinating people. The museum there is tiny, but wonderful, with a special section devoted to Death Valley Women, with photos, newspaper articles, and stories. In the back of the museum are the collection of bones once thought to be mammoth bones, but later identified as several different animals probably washed into the Pleistocene lake from several different areas.

Shoshone lies at the edge of the ancient lake, and the area is riddled with soft sediments from the old lake bed, then uplifted and eroded into washes and gorges and mesas, surrounded by more wild volcanics, ash flow tuffs, and even obsidian. Suddenly in the cliffs, we saw caves that were obviously man made, and got out to explore. Later, the museum volunteer pointed me up a dirt road west of Shoshone to view more of these man made caves. Near town, in addition to a very strange and wacky looking cemetery, we found what was left of hand carved homes inhabited by desert dwellers in the 20’s and 30’s. They looked ever so much like homes carved out of the volcanic tuffs in the Cappadocia region in Turkey. Certainly not as old, and not as artistic, but the idea was the same. Carve out a safe home, warm in winter, cool in summer, using what is available.

Apartments carved in stone in the desert near Shoshone, maybe a little over 80 years old?

click here for many more photos of the area around Shoshone and the cave homes.

Apartments carved in stone in Cappadocia, maybe over 1200 years old?

Click here for more photos of the fantastic home in the Cappadoccia region of Turkey

After exploring the cave apartments, we continued up the wash toward the volcanic hills. The road ended after a few miles, but yielded a wonderful array of blooming wildflowers.

Yes, Mo and I did plenty of tent camping before we got the first MoHo in 2005

Back on the highway, we continued south toward the small community of Tecopa, site of several hot springs resorts. I say “resort” with tongue in cheek, because these places were not fancy in the least, just dusty campgrounds with faded signs that said “hot mineral baths” or “massage”. The springs are known for their healing properties, and have been used by humans for centuries, but they didn’t look all that tempting to me. My favorite spring is still up in the mountains of eastern Oregon, in the middle of a meadow at Hart Mountain. But that’s another story, prior to MoHo days, when Mo and I tent camped up there.

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Beyond Tecopa to the south and east on the Spanish Trail, is the desert oasis of China Ranch. The road into the valley is twisting and winds between fantastical apparitions of the badlands. Once through the tiny canyon, the small valley opens up, green and lush with date palms and irrigation. It wasn’t very clear about where to go, and we followed a dirt road and a sign that pointed to the gift shop. The parking lot was almost full, but the gift shop was very small and didn’t seem to be near the date palms at all. There were a few signs pointing to the river, but we really had no idea where to go, and of course with Abby, we needed to check on the dog friendly areas, if they existed.

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I went into the tiny, crowded gift shop, where one person was busy making date shakes, and no one else seemed to be around. I finally asked a customer if they had any idea of what you were supposed to do in this place and she gave me the 50 cent trail brochure. Ahha!! No restrictions on dogs! We didn’t even see a leash sign, but kept Abby on her leash anyway. The maps on the brochure were fairly primitive, and even as a map maker I had a hard time figuring out where to go. We ambled up the lane toward the date palms, trying to find a circular route which eluded us, and trying to avoid the hot badlands which didn’t sound all that great on this hot mid afternoon.

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The palms were beautiful, graceful and gentle in the desert. Each variety had an informative sign explaining it’s origin, something we had seen at the Oasis in Indio, but of course here everything was much more rustic and casual. After hiking an hour or so, we walked back to the shop for a cold drink. I kept thinking I wanted a date shake, but every time I would slip inside the line was too long, and the poor guy was still doing everything by himself. Mo and I settled for a cold diet pepsi and some time on the shady bench outside the store.

Our trip home followed the original path of the Old Spanish Trail back to Highway 160 south of Pahrump. There are great signs about the trail in two places, but each of them comes up suddenly with no warning, so you have to be ready to whip in or turn around to read them. It was sobering to stand in that wide open, hot, dry desert basin, with range after range of rugged mountains in every direction and envision hardy travelers following this path from Abiquiu, New Mexico to Los Angeles in 1829. John C Fremont, another hero of mine, passed on this trail in 1844. In 2002 it was designated by Congress as a National Historic Trail. Our circular route back to Pahrump followed much of this path, and even I-15 follows along the historic trail for some distance in Nevada.

Once home again in the late afternoon, we settled in to reading and relaxing before our planned outing to the Pahrump Nugget Steakhouse for their highly touted best steaks around. Sometimes Mo and I skip lunch entirely and eat a very early supper, but again, this time we were considering Abby and our opportunity to eat out required dark night skies. The casino was fairly quiet on a Sunday night, but the restaurant was full to the brim with a big bunch of bikers who were staying in a nearby hotel. At first we though the whole idea might have been a mistake when the waitress said there would be an hour wait. The restaurant didn’t even look full, but all the wait staff was in the back room with the bikers. We said we would be happy to sit in the bar, actually just a couple of tables next to the restaurant, and settled in to watch all the frustration of the employees trying to deal with a lot of people with not a lot of staff. Finally we managed to get a couple glasses of wine and then a sweet young man, who turned out to be the off duty chef, came over and took our order. Once they figured out that someone needed to wait on us, everything went great. My steak was perfect, and I have 3/4 of it left for our dinner tonight.. Once back home, we felt like it was a perfectly lovely day and we were ready to settle in to the slight evening breeze.

Our trip is coming to a close. As I was writing this entry, the wild crest of the Sierra Nevada Mountains opened up to the west, and the snow capped ranges of western Nevada are framing my view to the north as we approach Walker Lake. Not sure yet where we will stop tonight, but I do hope it is on a big alluvial fan somewhere in the Nevada desert, with a view for miles and no lights to be seen.

Laughlin, Forgettable. Pahrump, Memorable

We are heading north on Highway 95 now, on very smooth, very straight 2 lane road. Mo is driving and there is very little traffic. As our trip is winding down, both of us are a bit ready to just hit the road and keep moving rather than lingering much longer. The original plan included a possible trip into Death Valley and a possible route north on 395. We both love Death Valley and have spent time there, and we have traveled 395 many times. 395 is gorgeous, and the Alabama Hills near Lone Pine is one of our favorite places. But we have been there. Somehow this time the open spaces of Nevada called us with the direct route north.

I love traveling through this part of Nevada. The vistas are so wide, huge alluvial fans as far as the eye can see, sloping gently upward to the contorted rugged volcanic ridges, broken by layers of uplifted sediments, and subtly colored by all the eternities of evolution of this landscape. As a soil mapper, one of the indicators we use to identify soil change is the vegetation pattern. Here in this part of the world those subtle changes are easily visible.

Crossing a playa with crusted salt surfaces, up a bit more to a low basin covered with greasewood, tells me it is still salty. In the distance, at the foot of the contorted hills the greasewood drops out and creosote appears, a faint hint of filmy green across the distance. Less salt. Rising higher, the gray mounds of low sage and an occasional Joshua tree. Each of those variations will indicate to me that the soil is changing, not only the salts on the surface, but the hard petrocalcic layers below the surface, the mixed up crazy gravels and cobbles of the alluvial fans, the shallow bedrock soils of the ridges.

Mapping soils in the desert is a beautiful thing, at least if you have a 4 wheeler and access. In this day it seems that unless the mappers are on federal lands, the access in extremely limited. People are protective of their rights, their property, and no longer trust the government. A geologist or a botanist or a soil scientist may be a threat and not a help in their minds. It’s a bit of a sad thing for the young soil scientists coming up now, trying to do their jobs, constantly hindered by suspicious landowners. I was lucky. I mapped almost a million acres of ground, much of it wild and free lands in the Pacific Northwest, just a tiny bit of southern deserts. Lucky me!

Traveling north from Phoenix to Laughlin was uneventful. We took Highway 60 northwest and avoided the fast pace and crowded traffic on I-17, but once we arrived at I-40 near Wickenburg the RV’s were almost bumper to bumper. It was the mass exodus of the Canadians in full force. Alberta, British Columbia, Manitoba, Saskatchewan plates in abundance. I never saw a Quebec or Ontario, though. Laughlin wasn’t far from the Interstate, and before long we were dropping down to the Colorado River and the town of Bullhead City. Right before our turnoff to a possible RV park we found the Mojave County Park, with what looked to be fairly nice sites along the river. With a fee of $21 for the night, we settled in to a back in site near the river. The temperature read 99.9 degrees and within a few minutes it read 100. March 31, and 100 degrees! We pulled the shades, turned on the air conditioner and napped and read in the cool dim light until 6:30 that night!

When the sun finally let up a bit, we took a walk down to the river so Abby could cool off and swim, and got in the Tracker to check out Bullhead City and then cross the bridge to Laughlin and the casinos. Twilight was deepening and the lights of the casinos looked dramatic and lovely reflected on the river. Laughlin itself wasn’t much to speak of, especially with the extensive construction on Casino Drive. The marquees said nothing about shows, only advertising their buffet dinners and hotel rooms. We drove up to Harrah’s and almost left before we finally found an entrance to the Casino. We can at least do things like this at night now and then, because Abby seems to be content to settle down and sleep in the car if it is dark outside.

Mo and I like to play the slots a bit, and to us it is a win if our 20 bucks each lets us play a couple of hours and have fun. Cheap entertainment. Neither of us is likely to go over that 20 limit and we rarely win anything, but I still like the lights and the glitz of the casinos. It’s especially fun to watch the people there. We saw one very old lady, very skinny, dressed up in diamonds and sparkles, with shiny reflective leopard skin jacket. leather pants, and sequins everywhere. After a short time at Harrah’s, we went to the Royal Palm Casino, with it’s marquee shouting out that it had the newest slot games. Here we found a sign to the River Walk, which I had heard was a nice thing to do in Laughlin, but it was dark and buggy out, so we decided against it. Another move into the Colorado Belle Casino, dolled up to look like a big riverboat was our final destination for the evening, with our $20 increased a bit with some bells and whistles and then again finally gone.

Originally we thought we might stay two nights in Laughlin, having heard and read much about it from RV’rs and travel magazines. Not for us, I guess. We aren’t enough into gambling and town camping to really enjoy it that much. we also didn’t bring our kayaks along on this desert trip, and the Colorado River here was wide and fast. It seemed there were lots of water craft around, including noisy jet skis. Instead we decided to spend our extra night at Pahrump, another place much touted by RV’rs for the winter. I guess we would find out the next day.

Surprises are good

I love it when life brings a surprise, especially good ones, surprises without drama, unless it is just the drama of the landscape. Last week when we arrived in Phoenix at the Royal Palm, life did just that. As I wrote previously, on Wednesday afternoon we read about the fifteen best things to do in Phoenix, and didn’t even finish reading the list when we decided to travel the Apache Trail, Arizona Highway 88. I wonder how many bloggers pored over those old Arizona Highways magazines as much as I did in my youth. I would read every story, ogle every red rock photo of Sedona in awe, wonder at the flowers in the desert. Today reminded me of an Arizona Highway day.

Getting out of Phoenix, however, takes a fairly long time. The huge valley is wide and sprawling, with freeways bisecting the city and Highway 60 taking off toward the east and Apache Junction. After many miles of hot desert, we arrived in Apache Junction, another sprawling metropolis populated with RV’s and what are actually called “Travel Trailer Parks”. The community has been high on the list of places to be for snowbirder’s, maybe just a hair below Quartzite in the winter. We only traveled through, with the Apache Highway as our destination.

Long before we reached the town, however, the mythical Superstition Mountains rose against the eastern sky. Highway 88 is a pleasant 2 lane highway, with the actual mountain itself on the eastern edge of town. Before we had traveled any distance at all, suddenly there appeared what seemed to be some kind of ghost town. We whipped around to get back to the entrance. Sure, it was probably a fake, and probably very commercialized, but it looked fun, and the buildings looked really old and authentic.

The built up commercialized town of Goldfields didn’t disappoint us one bit. Especially when we found the tall glasses of frozen lemonade to ward off the afternoon heat. I had a bit of a time tracking the history of the town, but eventually found out that it was indeed a real ghost town, where many of the buildings were reconstructed, but much of the machinery was from the original town.

After wandering around and enjoying the views, be again got on the Apache Trail heading east toward Roosevelt Lake. When I say the day was a surprise, it was because I had never heard of the Apache Trail until a casual mention by Wes last week asking if we had driven that road. Here is a quote from Theodore (not Franklin!) Roosevelt: “The Apache Trail combines the grandeur of the Alps, the glory of the Rockies, and the magnificence of the Grand Canyon, and then adds an indefinable something that none of the others have. To me it is the most awe-inspiring and most sublimely beautiful panorama nature has ever created.” Well, coming from Teddy, one of my favorite historical heroes, it must be really something, since he explored so much of the world and saved so much of it for our viewing pleasure.

Initially the road was paved, two lane highway, a bit winding, and steep in places, but not unmanageable. As we continued east, however the vistas got bigger, the canyons deeper, the colors brighter. After taking many photos of blooming cactus and distant mountains, we reached the unpaved portion of the road. Another 22 miles were ahead of us before we again would travel on pavement at Roosevelt Lake. I have to say that Roosevelt Lake was another surprise, since in all the blogging about the world of Arizona, I don’t remember ever even hearing of this place.

I think it took us about 7 hours to traverse the entire route to Globe and connect again with Highway 60, and it was enchanting every single moment. The most exciting moment was rounding a steep long curve and seeing the face of the Theodore Roosevelt Dam looming right in front of us above Apache Lake. I somehow had no clue there was a dam there, although a closer inspection of my maps would have shown them. All that water in the desert, silly, of COURSE there is a dam there, and a big one. This dam was built of bricks, yes bricks, and is the largest masonry dam in the country, probably because they don’t do that any more. It was started in 1903 and completed in 1911, and the Apache Trail then became a tourist route for scenic drives. Can you imagine those old cars on this road??

Once beyond the dam, the beautiful vista of Roosevelt Lake opened up before us, with the Roosevelt Bridge framing the view. Another wonder, this bridge was built to route traffic across the lake so that repairs could be made to the dam. Someone said that the dam is almost always in some state of disrepair and repair. The graceful bridge is listed among the 12 best in the United States, along with the Golden Gate and the Brooklyn Bridge. Again on pavement, we traveled quickly east past the Tonto National Monument, too late to go up the road behind locked gates and view the cliff dwellings, another surprise, since I hadn’t heard of this place either. Arizonan’s will probably think I must have been under a rock to miss all this, but in all my years of traveling the southwest, I never learned of these places. What a treat to find an unknown world right under my nose.

I wished for more time to go into the visitor centers, to see the cliff dwellings, to learn more about the building of the road and the dam. We intersected Highway 60 about 3 miles west of Globe, and it was almost dark, so the scenic highway was merely fantastic silhouettes and shadows as we hurtled down the steep canyon back to the great salty valley that is home to Phoenix. Once again on the freeway, we were subjected to the erratic, speed demon fast, pass you in the right lane going 80 kind of traffic that seems to be the norm around Phoenix. Once again we drove into a dark campground and found the cat waiting patiently on the dash, meowing at us indignantly.

It was a great day of driving and short hikes taking photos, and being back in the wild world of the Arizona desert mountain landscape.

Eventually the internet will smile on me and I will have a connection that will allow me to upload the photos to Picasa. For more vistas of the highway, check here.