Part 6: La Junta, CO to MogFest
2010
20101016-21
The Trip
We completed the required actions
to get the trucks ready to roll. It took us several hours to load
and pack all of our stuff that had been disgorged during our 4 week
stay in Rob's shop. Both of us were ready to go and happy that we
had completed the actions required to get the 1017A road-worthy.
The Photos
The photos below are what we saw.
I found this image in my Mark III
camera when I uploaded this set of photos. While not specifically
relevant to this trip, the subject is noteworthy. This is
Pichacho Peak near Tucson and represents a great example of a volcanic
plug that has been exposed by erosion over time.
On one of the down days, Rob lent
us his car and sent us into the mountains outside of Pueblo, CO to see
the fall colors. These trees were in full display.
La Junta is over a 100 miles to
the east of our position and is somewhere out there past the
horizon. Note the interesting log cabin in the foreground.
On the morning of our departure,
Rob had to do some "yard work" at one of his properties that included
using this rig as the mower. When done, he came by the shop to
wish us well.
My 1300L is in the foreground with
a 1200 snow-blower/plow combination in the background.
Kathleen and I posed near our
respective rides for the next 5 days.
Kathleen got a shot of Rob and I
in front of the newly completed 1017A.
From La Junta, we headed west,
then south along I-25. We spent the first night in Raton, NM and
then left the following morning toward ALBQ. The photo above was
shot at a rest stop near Wagon Mound, NM.
Note the propane bottles strapped
down on the tire rack. At the last minute, since we could not
complete the propane mount, I elected to take the bottles with us for
completion of the task in San Diego. Note all the light under the
body of the camper. This space will be filled with tool boxes
once the construction is complete.
Kathleen drove the 1300 without
incident. We were both happy that the truck ran well. The
trip into ALBQ was easy and we met Brad Buffett for dinner. The
next morning, we packed and headed toward Flagstaff, AZ. Along
the way, we encountered some discomfort, best described in the email I
sent to some of my mog buddies the following day.
Guys:
We had an interesting past 24 hours and I thought it would be worth an
email to describe it.
We spent last night in ALBQ with Brad Buffet; we had a great time and
had a nice dinner. Sadly, Kathleen was served something that did
not agree with her, and she was up all night in the bathroom.
But, no matter, as she was fully recovered in the morning.
We left Brad's place and went to Walmart to pickup a prescription, but
the pharmacy opens at 0900 so we decided to eat at iHop and wait for
the pharmacy to open. This, as it turn out, was a really bad
decision. The scope of this poor decision would only be revealed
after a few hours.
We headed out from Walmart west on I-40. After about 20 minutes
of travel, my stomach was not happy in a big way. Now, for those
of you not familiar with the area, it is rather like I-8 from Ocotillo
to El Centro. No brush, nothing on the side of the road to hide
behind. So, armed knowledge of the environment, we motored
on. I managed to not soil myself, but my self control was only
driven by the severe psychological damage that I would inflict on all
the passer-by on I-40 if I decided to address the problem at the side
of the road. After 60 miles, I was looking feverishly for a
solution. My needs were answered by the Flying J truck stop.
We pulled into the Flying J at mach speed and I slid to a stop in front
of the restaurant and literally ran inside. As it turns out, the
entrance to the restrooms was across the corridor from the entrance to
the restaurant. The manager, in his infinite wisdom, elected to block
the men's room door open and rely on the chicane to block visibility
into the men's room, never thinking about acoustics. This
decision would provide some interesting fodder for conversation.
I passed a substantial crowd waiting to be seated in the busy
restaurant and sprinted for an open stall. I found precisely one
open and it was none-too-clean. But, no matter, the urge was
strong and I did not care. The men's room at the Flying J, it seems, is
covered floor to ceiling in nice sound-reflecting tile. As I
proceeded to address my issue, the sound was deafening. The tones
of my activity reflected off the tile walls and out to the waiting area
outside, but there was nothing that I could do about it.
3 flushes later there was nothing left; clean to the pylorus valve,
possibly higher. I composed myself and went to the sink to wash
up. When I was done, I happened to glance at myself in the
mirror. A thick thread of drool was running out of the corner of
my mouth. As I contemplated what I was observing, another thread
appeared on the other side. Ah, I know what THIS means! 2
big strides brought me back to me back to my stall where I proceeded to
explosively vomit. I managed to get the seat up, but the noise of
my wretches sounded like a pistol being fired in a confined
space. Soon, I was reciting poetry to the porcelain gods. The
first stanza was lyrical, if not melodic. And loud. Very,
very loud. I am sure that the sound of my retching was amplified
by the tile walls and was nicely finding it's way to the waiting area
for the restaurant. Preceded by my earlier performance, I am sure
this recital was a hit with my unintended audience.
The second stanza of the poem was not quite as remarkable, but it seems
that my body was saving itself for the 3rd verse. When the 3
stanza was recited, it was performed with vigor and skill. The
sound of my retching was so loud that it was painful and the dispersion
of the spray was something to behold. It was so intense that I
had to get my face at the same level as the rim of the bowl to prevent
splattering my shoes. I quickly moved my head lower, but was
quite unhappy to discover that significant amounts of the splatter was
splashing back on my face and glasses. My face was a fire hose of
puke emitting stinking, burning jets of juice spraying out of both
nostrils and mouth. It was impressive. And, under different
circumstances, I might even have been proud of my performance.
When I completed reciting the 3rd verse of my poem I attempted to
compose myself. Various unidentified fluids were dripping from my
face. When I was sure that I was not going to decorate the front
of my shirt, I went to the sink to wash up. The 2 truckers that
were in the other stalls were done and leaving. When they saw me,
they literally ran out of the men's room, never making eye
contact. I am sure that being a captive audience to my little
performance just made their day.
When I emerged from the restroom, the restaurant was virtually empty
and there was nobody in line. A job well done it would seem!
The balance of the drive was generally unremarkable, but
uncomfortable. In the end, this segment of the drive from ALBQ to
Flagstaff turned out to be the perfect trifecta of travel: long, boring
and uncomfortable.
Thus is life on the road.
We spent the night in Flagstaff
and it was cold and rainy. Next morning, we continued west on
I-40 to the Providence Mountains in the Mojave desert. We spent
the night at the Mitchell Caverns campground hoping to take the cave
tour. But, as fate would have it, the tour was canceled. As
we arrived, the weather started to close around our position.
That night we had a huge lightning
storm with bright flashes and many claps of thunder. It rained
hard all night and was still socked in the next morning.
When we learned that the tour was
canceled, we packed to head out. Next to our camp was this
interesting stained boulder.
The rain finally stopped and the
air cleared highlighting the sparse desert landscape.
From our camp, we could see
several cave entrances on the side of the mountain.
The clouds continued to clear
providing a better view of the Providence Range.
The dust-free air provided great
views of the Mojave desert beyond.
We topped off our water tanks and
headed out toward the Salton Sea to the southwest.
Along the way, we passed Amboy, CA
which is next to a large dry lake. The surface of the lake is
coated with a crust of calcium chloride and sodium chloride which are
both mined.
The white salt looked quite
striking along the cloud-covered horizon.
Our stop at the dry lake was
short, but we did get a good lesson in that brief time. The
surface of the lake is rock-hard from the salt crystals. But, the
roadside was FAR from hard. I sank to my ankles in sticky,
clay-based mud that looked firm on the top but sloppy-soft right
underneath.
From Amboy, we attempted to cross
Joshua Tree NP via a back road. But, given that I was leading and
did not have the correct GPS maps loaded into the unit, we ended up
taking another route. We spent the night in Desert Center at a
very nice RV park and then headed into Indo for a resupply prior to
MogFest. We arrived at the camp early; only Kai beat us
there. But soon, others started arriving. Above, Alan
arrives with his 406 on the bed of his FL70 truck.
Despite our unpleasant food-bore
discomfort, the trip went smoothly. We found our way to MogFest
within the allocated time and arrived early to help set up
MogCentral. Tomorrow, we would go on a trail ride and see the
sights.
Photos and Text
Copyright Bill Caid 2010, all rights reserved.
For your enjoyment only, not for commercial use.