Friday 3rd August.

The morning staff are even surlier so I am not too horrified when the black water pipe comes away while I am dumping. We hardly ever use the onboard toilet and woudnt have if their bathroom had been open so it was poetic and in a way natural to see it all lying there in the sunshine. A quick stop at Walmart for catnip and a 45 second lifestory from a passing rv man. You get used to this and we have learned to open conversations ourselves. I learn about his father’s death and his sister’s miraculous recovery from lifelong stupidity after heart surgery and get a recipe for polishing fibreglass. An easy run down to Reno has us deciding to get at least as far as Grass Valley, sister city of the famous Bodmin, Cornwall, England. The last gasp of Interstate 80 took us high into the mountains again over the roughest road we had travelled in 4500 miles. We jangled and jarred past Lake Tahoe with all the cupboard doors banging until mercifully turning off towards the west and a run downhill. The road by now was heavily treed on either side and very picturesque. We climbed and descended (climbing means crunching down through gears balancing somewhere between lowest and second trying to keep the revs down at 22 mph, pulling over when possible to let the angry calvacade take a risky shot at passing. Descending means hanging on at 60 mph, bucketing and swaying, trying to anticipate the hairpin bends while the fridge, cooker and gong try to overtake us. Lisa prefers it when I take photos going uphill) several times through the Sierra Nevada but arrived at Grass Valley and I went in search of a pasty. It wasnt too good (broccoli?) but we met a friendly dentist. Having come this far we puit the pedal down and trucked on through to Willits - our destination on the Pacific coast where George and Ellen live. We lost the petrol cap somewhere on the way and the sun was in our eyes for the last 2 hours but we finally arrived, hot and grimy but jubilant at having crossed this Great Country Of Theirs. George was out of course. He’s in England for a month but Ellen was lovely and kindly gave us her bed. Slept soundly.

Thursday 2nd August

This day is a big trek across the desert as fast as possible. We hope to do t in 2 days and are on the road well before noon. The landscape is barren with the salt lake with the salt lake half-hidden by highway barriers to the right and and industrial machinery under the crags to our left. Further on there are immense crusty salt fields on either side. I stop to taste it - its salty. After a couple f hours we pul up for a rest at a shiny white place that looks like a snowfield laid flat and clean to the mountains on the horizon. We discover to my boyish delight that this is Bonneville Flats, where my hero Sir Malcolm Campbell set the first Land Speed Record of around 300 mph. We walk out over reflecting salty water to stand on the vast white plain where the whole of tecourse cannot be seen due to the curvature of the earth. Refreshed, we get petrol and cross into nevada, land of desert and casinos. The landscape is unrelentingly rocky with scrappy vegetation and brbed wire for miles. We rest a couple of times in ugly places alongside 18 wheelers but press on until the evening when we arrive at the Model T RV Park and Casino in Winnamucca manned by a surly woman. In all directions we see glossy old cars, some cranked up to be fearsome drag machines but all beautifully detailed. Car show weekend in Nevada. The showers and toilets closed 30 minutes later so I tried my luck in the casino along with a handful of solitary tired punters and bored croupiers. I won 2 bucks but lost 12, dumped and went to bed, listening to the drone of giant truck engines airconditioning their sleeping drivers.

Wednesday 1st August

We pay a final visit to the spectacle by morning light but we have to get downhill fast as Lisa is very unwell. We return the way we came the day before. Downhill for well over a hundred miles we decide to cross the Nevada desert by the lowest route, the interstate from Salt lake city to Reno. Making good time and still going down fast we truck on at 60mph for the full 250 miles and arrive at Salt lake city to meet the evening rush hour on a 14 lane highway with twisting loops above and below us. We punched the coordinates of a Kampsites Of America into George and followed a red line that threaded through the chaos and led us to the kamp. Lisa recuperated while I took advantage of the free mormon tourist bus which took me to a guided tour of Mormon Central. Lots of smiles, white shirts, long skirts and ugly shoes but very friendly people with a secure place in the universe. No records for Yanavicius. The buildings were an incredible effort from a few hundred pioneers, many of whom pushed heavy handcarts across the prairie from St Louis. The rand churches were created from what was available close by, the marble columns and oak pews both made from cunningly painted pine. A swim in the pool and a soak in the hot chlorine tub before bed to lie awake serenaded by trains blasting their horns in the marshalling yard upriver.

Tuesday 31st July

We leave on the side roads - destination Bryce Canyon if we can make it. Climbing again along a small river we travel through farmland and subtly shaded canyons and then softer hills reaching high on either side, tracks leading to hidden gold mines. A steady day of travel made uncomfortable by my back and Lisa’s returning altitude sickness. 5-6000 feet seems to be the trigger point. We finally make it to the outskirts of Bryce and begin to climb up to 8000 feet through the splendid Red Canyon, the red so intense that it hurts the eyes. We turned into the park (finally making a profit on our year’s national park pass) and settle at a good campsite among the pines, next to a south african older couple who are ravelling the globe in an unusual rig of his (Jan’s) own design. It has a Landrover body, a Chevy engine, East german axles and a Toyota transmission plus complicated additions padlocked in odd places. This vehicle has circumnavigated Australia, South America and Africa and travelled through eastern Europe and Mongolia before it arrived in the US. Only 17 ft long but more fully equipped than we are. We drive up the road to overlook multiple rock pinnacles at 9000 feet and marvel at a giant spectacle of intricate sandstone sculptures lit by the dying sun.

Monday 30th July

To Moab for a slap-up feed at breakfast and a visit to the post office to discover that airmail prices have skyrocketed. Clerk suggests sending money instead of gifts. We enter the National Park and climb out towards the well documented red rock formations and arches. Everchanging shadows and goblin faces everywhere and a steady stream of cars and RV’s. Too much pain to walk out at the end of the road but we see awe inspiring wind sculptures from the camper. Lisa ministers to an Australian adventurer on the GreenTortoise adventure bus whose leg and backside are swollen from spider bites. Leaving Moab we try to reach the motorway by the picturesque route along the Colorado river but signs say a bridge is down so we backtrack and head upwards along a major road. Its very bare country and becomes more desolate as we reach the main east-west highway. This is the lowest route west but even so we climb for miles at under 30 mph and Lisa starts to hurt. Staggering views unfold around us as we cross the great reef - a vast mountain ridge which bars our way. More climbing and more stupendous panoramas until we eventually begin the long but speedy decline to Salinas. Over 100 miles through heat and dust without ant services whatsoever. We check into a motel for the night so we can have a bath and a poor mexican meal. Not much here bar gas stations, base hotels and hookers.

Sunday 29th July

After much cursing and loss of skin we get the belts off but it takes much longer abuse to replace them. The job is simple but the engine is cleverly designed so tools can’t fit. By midday we are done and leave for Moab - a long drive ahead. Came across a wonderful field littered with ancient car wrecks.


Uneventful good weather drive to the Utah border and the green plain landscape doesnt change very much. Then we crest a rise and the desert is ahead with huge outlandish crags dropped into the open space. Lisa feels the height and I feel the heat. We stop by a huge dome halfway to Moab to rest my back and marvel.




At Mesa Verde we had met a snowbird who recommended a primitive campsite on Goose Island just past Moab on the Colorado river. We found a spot right by the water with a huge red cliff towering over us on the other side of the river.



Another great sunset stretches a moving tableau of faces on the cliff wall. Slightly confused by a late night echoing megaphone boat trip passing by, reminiscent of Apocalypse Now.

Saturday 28th July

We now have a fanbelt and a jeep so we pstpone fixing the camper and drive up the hairpin road to the top of Mesa Verde and an ancient indian settlement. Lisa cuts me an illegal stick so I can walk and unbend and we queue impatiently in the heat for tickets to the ancient dwelling sites as the weather worsens. The views on the way up are long range and highly detailed.

We are very high and Lisa’s heart is hurting so we are a pair of cripples wandering through a fantastic outdoor museum. The indians who built these villages into the cliffs eventually moved out to settle lands throughout the southwest. Their descendants ‘exchanged’ the Mesa Verde for other lands 100 years ago, shortly after the dwellings were discovered by a settler looking for his cow.

Weather turns foul as we leave and a rockslide closes the road, stranding us in our discomfort for an hour. I return the jeep to Cortez and the weather clears enough to give us a lovely cliff sunset.
 

We finally prepare our citizenship applications and go online to find the combined fee goes up another $550 on Monday and there is nowhere to get a postmark tomorrow. Feeling the feds sneer, I seethe.

Friday 27th July

Watched osprey nesting on poles at the lake. On through Apache lands, west and then north towards Colorado. Indian lands always seem impoverished. Bad roads, poor housing, low reservoir. Into the National Forest the tarmac becomes smooth and the land tailored again.

Leaving the trees behind the landscape changes to chunky semi-desert hills and gullies as we drive north past Navajo Lake reservoir. Very hot and dusty road. Then we climb into Colorado and the scenery turns green and lush again.

Bypass Durango, a mountainside city, and climb higher westward at 25 mph. We stop at the root of the Mesa Verde, a huge mountain stub in the sky, to hear bad noises from the engine. The fan belt is a thread so we hobble into a closeby RV park to consider options. Nobody within 100 miles is interested in fixing it but Budget send a half price jeep so I drive into the next town, Cortez, in the fading light, to buy a replacement belt and supplies. I cook a foul and forgettable meal and we retire.

Thurs 26th July

Rose early to trawl the pool with a fishing net before the punters arrived but gave up before long. Spent a lazy morning covering ourselves in mud and baking in the sun, playing at being truly ancient people.

Packed up to leave and found the black water dump site was foot sloshingly full. Back on the road after a short discussion with the manager about sewage which scored us a couple of free passes. Our destination is the Ghost Ranch in the heart of O’Keefe land. Rather than backtrack down the main road we took a short cut through a mountain pass. A looming storm broke on our mountain and sent flash floods down rivulets and streams all around us, overflowing and blocking the road behind us as we drove. We trucked on to higher ground but even at the summits water was sluicing across the road. The drive became intense as the rain fell in sheets but we came across a small village with the road ahead flooded and waited out the storm.

Slept a little and replenished or goods at an eclectic country store. We came out onto the main road to the Ghost Ranch and the landscape grew huge, plains sweeping ahead to vast surreal cliffs.

Up a dirt track to the one-time dude ranch and present-day Presbyterian retreat in glorious technicolour cowboy scenery.

Back on the main road we drove for miles between wonderfully shaped and coloured cliffs and, as the sun set, approached Heron Lake where we stopped at the lakeside for the night and scavenged a brush and driftwood fire.

Wed 25th July

Had Rumsfeld’s house across the valley pointed out to us. Left Taos for the spa at Ojo Caliente, an astonishing drive down the Rio Grande through a landscape of delicate hues which rarely settle on a shade. The sky is vivid blue with crisp white clouds to our right and a deep grey to the left blending with the mountain - riven by a distant lightning strike. Deeper in the valley the road becomes narrow and faster with sudden curves marked by prettily decorated dedicated crucifixes.

We stop for lunch in a layby and sit in the desert sand imagining the time of Georgia O’Keefe.

Arrived at the spa and found an RV site. Water and electricity but no internet signal and one overflowing portobog. We checked out the hot springs and luxuriated between the soda, iron and arsenic baths and watched lizards hide. It was late in the day and the weather too cold to dry out the mudbath.

Just at closing time Lisa lost a glasses lens in the iron pool. I borrowed a torch hoping to catch a reflection in the murky depths but there was gravel underfoot and I had no luck. The portojohn was still too evil to use.