After 1-1/2 hour trying to find the Carlsbad caverns, I gave up. The ads tell you everything except how to get there. I have five people give me directions: The waitress at Denny's, the local librarian, the server at Steven's Inn, the clerk at Walmart, and the gas station attendant.
They all said the same thing, go “six-tuh-eight” miles south, turn right and drive up the mountain. In each case, I replied, “I cannot tell if you are saying ‘six to eight’ miles, or ‘sixty-eight’ miles. Are the caverns seven miles from here?”
“Yes,” they said, all five of them. They lied of course. Seven miles south of Carlsbad is flat scrub desert, shown here. The view is the same in every direction, except on the far western horizon. There is a range of low hills around fifty miles away. Why would five unrelated parties all give me the identical wrong information? Remind me to look that up when I get back to find what the common problem could be. Don't beller that I should have looked all this up, one should be able to find a roadside attraction by merely following signposts. It is not like the caverns were a planned part of this trip. Now I say to Carlsbad, "Phooey on you."
I’m tanking up every fifty miles if I can. There is no telling where the next filling station is. If you ask, people will point to the one you just pulled out of. No concept of “next”, I suppose. They can’t say how far it is, but say things like “Oh, you’ll make it”.
They are assuming that, like a car, the motorcycle can go 250 miles on a tank. Ignorance. That is the reason I left this area so long ago. In other parts of the country, ignorance is spread around. In rural mid-western areas, it is so concentrated. Ignorance can be learned, and lesson one is to answer questions with opinions rather than facts. I mean it. If you take 1,000 small town people in an arena, not one of them has ever written a book. Or composed a song. Or kept a journal. Every one of them has started those things but never finished. Trust me, I’ve known rural ignorance since I first saw it in kindergarten.
Daytime:
Here is the best possible view of southeastern New Mexico. The entrance to Texas. The day even got brighter as I crossed the line. Or maybe because I lifted my helmet visor. Either way, you can have New Mexico. Yours.
Thus, the next model the bed gets moved from the center to against the left wall. Thus, all switches, the radio, outlets, key hangers, the control panel, and my book light will be on the right where I can reach them more naturally.
There was a terrific south Texas tail wind behind me on I-10. Coupled with the smooth-as-glass Texas concrete freeways, I found myself hitting 65 mph twice. Not a good plan with the camper, but there was no problem at all. I pulled into Sonora making only 286 miles today. So you know, the camper has saved me so much, I’m considering staying another week on the road, returning only because of my commitment to the band.
Evening:
I also took inventory and camping is rough on tools and equipment. The good news is the Nikon camera got busted, the plastic battery clip, rendering it useless. Now I can get rid of it. Take note, those tools which were taken for repairing the camper and stored inside it remained in perfect shape.
This is day 21 in the camper and I’m completely sold. I spend all my money having a good time. Even eating is healthier because you can afford to be picky. So there is no “holiday poundage” problem. There is clearly a major trip due next year, at least two months on the road. I’ll add some extras to the next camper so I can park it securely anywhere, like right downtown across from a park or library or bar.
This is only my second trip on I-10. Ten years ago Frank and I took a station wagon full of toothpicks to San Diego through here. I flew back. Now I’m eastbound on a sidecar. Makes me wonder what next—if I live another ten years.
I know I’ve said I eat good on the road now, but that is getting pricey, too. Coffee is $2 anywhere now except the joints. The solar panels are not efficient enough for my needs. It requires two days of really bright sunlight for one night of full operation. Add these together and I ponder there is no easy way to keep decent food on board. But that is not a priority, other than food being the next most expensive item after gasoline. If I was to splurge, I’d rig up a bass amp in the camper long before a food locker. I’ve pretty much recognized the advantages of building a new camper from scratch, taking the $500 loss, and converting this trailer into a haulage unit.
I’m at sixes-and-sevens on the electronics. The club standards are so high there has never been a problem, and that relay panel I build, which I expected to be finicky, has been the most reliable and rugged item on this trip. Wow, what an awkward sentence that was. The club standard is also as expensive as hell. Then, we’ve never had quality problems with anything we’ve ever produced.
Something else: the least enjoyable part of this journey has not been the cold as you might expect, but the high-speed run back. Now that I have an extension, should I not slow down and enjoy rather than tow the camper only to conserve cash? I drove to Porkey’s in Sonora, TX. I asked the staff if I could park. It is miles off the noisy freeway. They said no problem and got my business and my appreciation that night. So much so, here is a special hello to Sonora Sydnie. Your mom is awesome.
The economy of the camper is showing up better on this return leg. I’ve stopped at Guthries, done a little Route 66, saw the Grand Canyon, barely missed the Caverns, and had a great evening in Sonora. I’m forming a plan for a real birthday treat this year. It's near my birthday, you know.
