Part 6: La Junta, CO to MogFest 2010

20101016-21

Navigation Links
 Trip Home Page     

 


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.
Navigation Links
Previous Adventure
Top of this Page
  Next Adventure
Trip Home Page  
Bill Caid's Home Page

Photos and Text Copyright Bill Caid 2010, all rights reserved.
For your enjoyment only, not for commercial use.