This post is brought to you by the letter S

The Sonoran Desert. Saguaro. Shit. South Mountain. Sixteenth at Phoenix Open. Super Bowl.

This post is brought to you by the letter S.

Did you know that the Saguaro cactus is only native to the Sonoran Desert? As often as I’ve had the privilege to visit this area of the Southwest, I had no idea how limited their range was, much less that these huge, unique plants can live up to 150-200 years old.

As Brad and I hiked in the Casa Grande Mountains on the 2.7-mile East Butte Trail, I wondered about the travelers the cacti had witnessed over time. From Native Americans all the way up to the modern-day mountain bikers, the stories they could tell.

Luna was in her element, weaving her way on the trail, sniffing, enjoying the quiet trail. Until she met up with another cactus…the jumping cholla. The sharp, long needles latched onto her back leg. Shit! Brad was wise to grab Luna’s collapsible canvas water bowl to detach the barbed spines from poor unsuspecting Luna. After removing what we thought were all the spurs, we kept on. Only later that night did we find more needles embedded in her fur coat. Tough bird, she didn’t really even flinch as we pulled them out.

Do not try this at home! Ouch!

After the peaceful morning hike, we packed up and headed up to our visit with our friends, Tom and Margo. They live in Chandler, near South Mountain. We parked Bessie on their street and enjoyed the comfort of their home for several days. We hiked along the base of South Mountain the next day. Fortunately for Luna, she had no further interactions with the jumping cholla cactus. Luna is used to being off-leash and was so amazing as we wound along the narrow mountain trail. I’d put her back on the leash whenever coming across other hikers, and make her sit, pulling her off to the side of the trail. She made more friends than we did on those hikes!

A highlight of our visit was taking in the Waste Management Phoenix Open. Brad and I, along with Tom and his friend BJ hung out at the course all day, taking in the storied 16th hole. The PGA touts it as The Peoples Open. I’d call it the Party Open. I couldn’t get over the massive and numerous hospitality tents, multiple stories high. The 16th hole is the place to be, as crowds cheer on birdies and boo at a mere par. Beer cans flew onto the green a day later, as a player made a hole in one. It was fun to see the change in clientele and attire as we left the course later in the afternoon. Young women, dressed in heels and strapless dresses strolled in with their date behind, dressed in polos and khakis, headed to the live entertainment the course hosts nightly.

We enjoyed golf at Moon Valley Country Club with our friend, Mike. He offered at the start of the round that the course was where Annika Sorenstam carded her historic score of 59 twenty years ago…the first woman to do so. I had a blast but my score was not historic.

Sunday afternoon brought the Super Bowl. Refreshing to have it scheduled at 4:30 pm Mountain Time, two hours before we would typically be viewing back at home. Just as kickoff was to happen, so did the unimaginable for football fans. The power went out. Brownout through the whole neighborhood. Brad, with his ability to think quickly on his feet, suggested we power up the generator on the motorhome and watch it from the outside TV. We gathered up chairs and began to transfer beverages and snacks to their driveway. And of course, just as we were settled in, the power went back on.

Monday morning, we fired up the motor home and started our journey back home.

With a few amazing stops along the way.

 

 

Stopping

“Stop,” a little voice screamed from behind me.

I turned around, pulling our lovable Labrador, Luna, with me.

There, was little four-year-old Wyatt huffing toward me, as fast as his little legs could pedal his bike with training wheels. I’d met Wyatt, his little sister, Ava, and his parents just moments before while taking Luna on her evening walk. Luna tugged on the leash as we chatted, and I gave in, knowing she wanted some privacy to do her business.

Wyatt loved Luna and wanted more face time with her, apparently.

“I told you to stop, but you didn’t stop,” he wailed.

I walked back to Wyatt, Luna gave him a big wet one on the face and I said, “I’m sorry, sweetie. I didn’t know you were trying to catch up with us.”

“I was, and I couldn’t,” he said, his voice quivering.

I know the feeling. I felt like I was having problems catching up with myself since taking off on our journey a week before. From driving like crazy people from Toledo to San Antonio in two days, then touching down in San Antonio for two days, dropping into the land of snow (as I now call El Paso), and then on to Phoenix in no time flat, I simply needed to stop.

Our campground, Wild West Ranch, is located in the Sonoran Desert. The ground consists of dust and dirt, evolved from stone and rock. The first night we arrived, under cover of cold, starry skies without a lick of light pollution, we struggled to find the spot we were to camp at. I got out of the motor home and walked cluelessly with my flashlight in hand, trying to avoid flashing neighbors. Using the rudimentary map I had, I found our spot, thinking Nancy Drew would be proud. Luna continued to circle away, trying her best to find any bit of vegetation to relieve herself on. Proud momma moment: this old dog can pee on any natural surface now. Luna…not me. I’m still working on it.

The Wild West Ranch is way south of Phoenix, about 45 minutes from our friends, Tom and Margo, with who we had intentions of getting together as much as possible. It’s surrounded by the Ak-Chin reservation. Ak-Chin translates into the “mouth of the wash.” As we drove up to Phoenix that week, I was amazed at the cotton fields and the irrigation system in place for what I learned to be 15,000 acres of farmland. The United States “gave” the tribe 47,000 acres in 1912. That was reduced to less than half that the following year. But the Native Americans gained water rights to the Colorado River in 1984 and have been successfully farming ever since.

So, in the midst of this dust and dirt, lived Ava, Wyatt, and their parents, in their travel trailer. Dad worked at the Intel chip manufacturing plant way being built in Phoenix. The new plant will support over 3,000 new jobs. I have a feeling that the Wild West Ranch won’t feel so wild the next we come this way.

For the moment though, Luna was licking Wyatt and Ava, giggles erupting from their sweet little faces, and I was stopped.

Blissfully stopped.

 

Bessie, Joanie and Frederick

We pulled into the San Antonio KOA and there she was.

Bessie. That’s what we’ve named our new-to-us motorhome. Not the most original of names for a vehicle, but it seems to fit.

Standing outside our soon-to-be new home were the soon-to-be previous owners, Joanie and Frederick. Joanie was petite, blond, and had a wonderful positive aura about her. Frederick, taller, sported a ball cap, where a long white ponytail flowed out of. His eyes twinkled behind his glasses, a quiet smile from underneath his mustache.

Welcome, they both said in unison and ushered us into the motorhome.

As soon as I made my way up the three steps into the coach and onto the threshold, I felt like this was home. I felt like I belonged here, all the while emotions of having been here before swept over me.

This was to be the third motorhome we traveled in. The first, an all-gold Cortez, brought people out on their porches throughout New England back in 1992. This isn’t the Cortez we drove in, but you get the idea.

I was pregnant with our daughter, Kyle, and little baby Claire spent most of the long travel days snapped into her car seat watching the world go by. My favorite story from that adventure almost was the worst story. Back then, mapping consisted of an Atlas, with dog-eared pages and oily finger stains. A thick campground book served as our guide to sites. Driving along the coast of Maine to our overnight destination, as we passed through a small town, Brad suggested we stop for dinner. I grumbled that I thought we should just keep going. Claire was getting fussy, and I was tired, dealing with a huge sinus headache. I just wanted to be there, wherever there was. The road went from a four-lane highway to two lanes, to something just above a gravel drive. The nearest thing to any dinner was looking like the few cans of beans we had in the cupboard.

We pulled up to the campground welcome stand, not much more than a little hut that kids would huddle in waiting for the school bus. The owner welcomed us and offered a site right along the bay. Claire began screaming on cue, and Brad asked if there was anywhere nearby to grab something to eat. The owner directed us just up the roadway, where she said we’d be in for a treat. It was close enough to walk, so we scooped up Claire and her highchair and hoofed our way to the dinner surprise.

There was a little weathered shack with a deck, right on the water. I set up the highchair and cuddled Claire, trying to settle her. Brad went inside and came out with a huge grin on his face and a spindly lobster, pinchers banded with rubber.

Lobster was the treat. I can still taste the buttery, soft meat from the fresh-caught crustacean. I’ve not had better lobster since.

The owners took us under their wing and showed us their lobster traps on the deck, explaining to these Midwesterners how they worked.

Our second motorhome we purchased after losing our daughter Claire. I was emotional as we met with the owner of the small dealership. This purchase stemmed from our vision of moving forward literally and figuratively after her death. It was a huge investment, both monetarily and with our family. The owner, an older gentleman, pulled me aside and asked if I was okay. He calmed me by offering that what we were doing was “honoring your daughter as well as your other two children. Think of all the amazing adventures you’ll have, the sights you’ll see, together.” He said that we were wise to do it now, for too often he had customers wait until they were older and found it difficult to get around.

Boy, did we get around…to 47 states in the unit.

(Our daughter Kyle filling in our travel map. Note to self: Buy a new one.)

And the adventures? From a hot air balloon ride in Albuquerque to a seaplane ride in Coeur d’Alene to hiking in Yellowstone, Glacier National Park, and an unforgettable kayak trip trying to beat a storm on Jenny Lake in the Tetons, we did it all.

So, here I was, once again, stepping foot inside our next adventure-transport vehicle. It couldn’t have felt more right, from Joanie and Frederick’s welcome to their generous gifting of many household goods, cleaners, and supplies. We learned in our time together that “Bessie” had served her purpose for Joanie and Frederick, and now it was time to move on.  We’re grateful they have entrusted us to take good care of her.

So now Bessie has a new purpose. Serving us safely as we attempt to continue to explore, learn, golf, and meet people along the way in our travels.

I think she’s up for it. I know I am.

 

 

Starting. Travels Post 1

My last post left you hanging while my husband Brad and I were getting air inflated into our motorhome’s severely under-inflated tires. Both of us were exhausted, from the anxiety of driving out of El Paso after an overnight snowstorm and having to deal with scraping off ice and snow from the motorhome slide outs. Note to self: Slide outs won’t slide in with snow and ice on them. Luna sat nervously on my lap, panting her anxiousness away. I tried to calm both of us by breathing slowly, in and out.

But…before I move forward, I must go back, back to striking out from Toledo on Brad’s birthday, Thursday, January 27, and driving to San Antonio, where our new-to-us motorhome lived temporarily.

In our planning, Brad and I figured we would drive the 1400-mile drive in leisurely fashion over the course of three days. I should know by now that Brad and leisurely fashion do not belong in the same sentence. Back in the day, traveling in our first motorhome with the kids, we referred to our trips as “Brad’s boot camp.” In all fairness, we’ve always had a dog with us on our travels, and they do tend to wake up in pre-dawn. Brad would throw a pot of coffee on, feed and walk the dog, and off we’d go, on to the next destination.

Since we were a day early on trekking to San Antonio, we had time on our hands, as we weren’t due to meet with the motorhome owners until Sunday, January 30.

Austin was right on our path. It’s a city that has a special place in my heart for several reasons. We traveled there as a family to attend the Texas Book Festival in 2002. We wanted to see the event that inspired Claire’s Day, the book festival we established in honor of our daughter in the flesh. A number of years later, my daughter Kyle and I returned to the city for our first-ever mother/daughter trip. Both trips left us with warm hearts and awesome memories.

This next trip to Austin would offer the same, thanks to the amazing author Meredith Davis and her family.

I’d never met Meredith. We connected after exchanging books through an online forum for writers of nonfiction for children. I won a copy of Meredith’s book, Her Own Two Feet, and in return, I sent her a copy of my biography of Virginia Hamilton. We kept in touch, emailing about our work, our families, our lives. When I told her that Austin was one of my favorite cities, she offered to make sure that if I was ever in town again, to get in touch so that we could meet.

Since Keep it Weird is Austin’s adopted slogan. Meredith didn’t think it weird in the least bit when I texted her and let her know that we were going to be in town and would love to get together…the next day. Meredith and her husband Clay even offered to pick us up at our hotel and take us all (including Luna!) to lunch at one of their favorite spots.

I imagine anyone watching us during that lunch at Polvo’s might have thought that we were old friends, getting together and catching up. That’s how it felt. We laughed, we nearly cried. We ate too much and needed to walk afterward. We wound our way through downtown, admired the new Austin Library (I didn’t get inside…next trip!), and rambled along the Colorado River on the hike and bike trail. It was a beautiful day, the path filled with all ages and stages. Teenage runners with their Air Buds in, young parents with babes in strollers, older couples leaning on each other as they slowly made their way.

At some point, Meredith shared that their son Nate and his band were going to be playing at a club just up the street from where we were staying. “Would you like to join us?” she asked.

Of course.

Austin is known for the food and the music, and we enjoyed a variety of both. It was awesome to witness a live performance again, to let the music flow into our souls and come out our tapping feet. Nate’s band, Everett, were just as happy to be playing as we were to be listening. Their songs and stage presence felt joyful and fun.

The evening went by too quickly, but by 11:30, we were ready to roll. Meredith and I snapped a quick photo, a reflection of our take-a-chance get-together.

The side trip was a lesson that sometimes wonderful things happen when you move too fast…one gets a chance to slow down with new friends.

We left Austin Sunday morning, excited to be meeting the owners of the motorhome that would soon become ours, deflated tires, and all.

Stay tuned for the next portion of the journey…the Wild West.