Going First Class

Sometimes spending a little more on your comfort is really worth it.

I was brought up in a lower middle class family that, in my later teen years, was upgraded to middle class after my mom’s divorce and remarriage. I struggled financially to live on my own for a while after college, and then struggled a little less when I began living with my future wasband. It wasn’t until I was in my late-thirties that I began earning what I’d consider a very good living.

Living when money is tight — but not tight enough to actually cause you to miss meals, get evicted, or turn to payroll lending storefronts to meet financial obligations — teaches you frugality and comparison shopping skills. You quickly learn that if you need to buy something, you need to shop around a bit to get the best deal. You need your money to go further. This becomes a mindset, something you do naturally. Something you can’t imagine not doing.

Travel on the Cheap

Even when my personal financial situation started looking very rosy, I was stuck in that mindset. That was especially so when I traveled for business in my early years as a writer. I was a regular speaker at Macworld Expo in San Francisco, Boston, and later, New York. I even spoke twice at the event in Toronto.

Macworld did not cover my cost to travel to these events. Its only compensation was free unlimited entrance to the show, snacks and swag in the Speaker room, and a Speaker ribbon that often led to more swag at booths. (The Press ribbon, which I earned by writing for some tech magazines back then, actually worked better.) The cost of airfare and hotels was on me. This was a pretty big financial burden, especially when I traveled to expensive San Francisco from the New York Metro area.

So I shopped for airfare. And yes, I’d even stoop to taking a non-direct flight or redeye if it could save some money. And then I shopped for hotels, winding up with satisfactory lodging within walking distance from the venue.

The crazy thing about all this was that my travel related to the event was a business expense — no doubt about it — and I could write it all off on my taxes, which I did. (Contrary to what some people think, writing things off on your taxes doesn’t mean the government pays for it. It means that it reduces your taxable income. So if you spend $1000 on a trip and your tax rate is 28%, it’s like getting a 28% discount on that expense.) But I was still in that watch-every-penny mindset and even though I could afford better flights or lodging, I just couldn’t see spending more when I could spend less.

That all came to a head one year on a San Francisco trip.

Seeing the Light

Macworld Expo in San Francisco was held in January. While the weather in San Francisco in January isn’t nearly as frigid as it is where I lived in New Jersey, it could be cold. I’d booked a room at the Victorian Hotel — now the Mosser Hotel — on 4th Street, less than three blocks from Moscone. (I think the hotel was just beginning its name change process back in those days — maybe 1998? — because I remember the new name.) I’d stayed there at least once before, so I knew what to expect. (Or thought I did.) The hotel was popular with speakers because it was relatively inexpensive. But it was inexpensive for a reason: it was old and in sore need of renovation. (I hope it’s been fixed up since then.) It did have a good restaurant on the ground floor, though: Annabelle’s was the name. (Funny the things we remember.)

On that particular year, San Francisco was cold and so was my room. The heat — a radiator! — simply did not work. I called down to the desk to see if they could do anything and they sent up a bellman with five blankets. I slept under a pile of seven blankets for the next few nights and dreaded showering.

I remember thinking to myself: What the fuck is wrong with you? You can afford a better room that this! Isn’t your comfort worth it?

The answer, of course, was yes. The next few years, I stayed at the W across the street from Moscone, where I was introduced to modern rooms, feather beds, and other very nice treats.

Airline Travel

The airfare lesson took a bit longer to kick in.

I admit that I stopped doing flights with connections unless there was no other option early on. (My wasband, however, did not. I remember one year when he paid for his family to come to Arizona from New York for Christmas. He bought them tickets on an airline called ATA, which was really cheap, probably because it only had like four planes. The flights had a stopover in Chicago, but not at O’Hare like a normal airline. They stopped at Midway. As anyone could expect in December in Chicago, weather moved in and the plane got suck at Midway. Then there was a mechanical issue. The delay was long and when his mom and sister finally arrived in Phoenix, they were extremely travel worn and cranky — can you blame them? The punchline: he only saved $50 per ticket over a direct flight with another airline. And yes, he could afford the $50 per person.) I’d had enough experience with the problems that arise when you have connecting flights and unnecessary stopovers. Why make a trip more difficult than it needs to be?

Of course, I usually fly out of Wenatchee these days and Horizon only operates a turboprop to Seattle, so all of my flights to anywhere other than Seattle have at least two legs. That can actually work out to benefit me, as you’ll learn in a moment.

(The only trip I occasionally do that I can’t avoid three flights is to visit my sister in St. Augustine, FL. The closest airports are Jacksonville and Daytona and the last time I went there no direct flights from Seattle. That meant flying from Wenatchee to Seattle to Atlanta to Jacksonville and then doing all that in reverse on the way home. No matter how you slice it, you’re traveling for a whole day.)

A few years back, when I was still doing frost control work in California from January and into March, I had a contract where I could stay home until called out. The call would come at 3:30 PM, which is when the hyperlocal weather forecast the grower subscribed to would be released for the evening. As I talked to him, I packed. When I hung up, I booked a flight from Wenatchee to Sacramento. As I was driving to the airport, I booked boarding for my dog, Penny, and dropped her off. As I waited at Wenatchee airport for my flight out, I booked my hotel and rental car. I’d arrive in Sacramento before 9 PM, get my car, and go to my hotel. In the morning, when I was released from standby, I’d book my return flight, check out of the hotel, and go home, picking Penny up along the way.

Every time I did this trip, I earned four legs on Alaska Air’s frequent flyer program. I did it six times in one season. That put me into MVP status. Suddenly, when I started flying Alaska Air, I’d get automatic upgrades to First Class at least 75% of the time. I enjoyed that for a year and a half — and I was doing a lot of airline travel back then. It spoiled me.

First Class is the Way to Travel

You have to understand that First Class isn’t just sitting in a bigger seat at the front of the plane — although, admittedly, that’s a real bonus. It’s free luggage check in. It’s often (depending got how you got to First Class) entry into the Alaska Lounge at SeaTac and a handful of other airports. It’s boarding first. It’s having a flight attendant take your jacket and put it on a hangar (and return it to you later while taxiing to the gate). It’s not having to shuffle down the aisle, hoping there’s space in the overhead bin for your bag. It’s having a drink — whatever you want — as everyone else boards. It’s having a warm towel to clean your hands, more drinks, a hot meal, and often a warm-from-the-oven cookie. It’s not having to worry about someone’s brat kicking the seat behind you or the jackass in front of you reclining his seat so you can count his hair follicles. It’s civilized and comfortable. It makes airline travel bearable.

Honestly, if you spend enough time on long flights — which I consider any flight over two hours — in First Class, you’ll wonder how the hell you managed to fly coach all those years.

Well, that’s how it was for me.

Good things don’t last forever and eventually my status as an Alaska Air MVP lapsed. I was back in the world of regular travel and I can’t say I was happy about it.

But what I discovered is that if I buy my ticket far enough in advance and I’m flexible about travel dates and times, I can often buy a first class ticket for just $100 to $300 more than coach. Here’s a random example for Alaska Air; in this case, if I were going to visit my brother in New Jersey, I’d be buying that First Class ticket leaving Wenatchee at 6:25 AM (keeping in mind that I’m a very early riser):

Fare Example
Would you rather spend five hours and 20 minutes in First Class or stuck in coach, rubbing elbows with some guy with body odor while a kid kicks the back of your seat? Oh, and don’t forget the ability to wait in the Alaska Lounge in Seattle for the two hours between my flight from Wenatchee to my flight out to Newark. Yes, it’s worth an extra $272 to me.

While I realize that not everyone has a few extra hundred bucks sitting around to piss away on air travel, I usually do. I don’t travel by air that much anymore and I want my experience to be as comfortable as possible. I travel alone now, so I don’t have to buy a ticket for traveling companions or worry about what they might be able to afford. I’ve come to realize that my comfort is worth the extra money.

Travel in Comfort

As I get older, I’ve come to realize that my personal comfort is important to me. If I can afford going First Class, I will.

That’s why I’m flying First Class from Los Angeles to Seattle next week. (There is no First Class on Seattle to Wenatchee legs.)

If you’re in a similar situation — older, traveling alone, money in the bank — and you’re not treating yourself to First Class travel when it’s available, why the hell not?

Reality TV: British Baking vs. Blown Glass

I compare two contest style reality TV shows.

I don’t watch regular TV. I don’t have cable or satellite, although both are available where I live. Instead, I have a smart TV and subscribe to a handful of services: Netflix, Amazon Prime, and Disney Plus. (I also watch YouTube on my TV but I haven’t yet sprung for a subscription to get rid of the increasingly annoying ads. I don’t think YouTube should cost more than Netflix.) Because I absolutely abhor commercial breaks while watching TV, I pretty much ignore the extra channels my TV offers for “free.” (My time is worth more than what I’d spend watching those commercials.) I don’t channel surf; once I start a show, I’ll either watch it all the way through or turn off the TV and do something else.

What I watch is pretty much limited to what I find on the services I get. (This means that if you try to start a conversation with me about the latest hit on CBS, you will not succeed.) When I feel like watching TV and I don’t have something specific in mind, I’ll browse to find something new. I’m big on binge watching when I want entertainment, so that occasionally has me trying new multi-episode series to see what resonates with me enough to watch.

I should mention here that, as a rule, I don’t watch reality TV. My personal reality is entertaining enough for me — I don’t need to watch some onscreen reality, manipulated by directors and creative editing to add drama. I’ve never seen Survivor or The Great Race or The Bachelor. I don’t even know the names of other shows that countless Americans waste their time watching — probably because they have time to waste. I prefer spending my free time enhancing my own reality.

Great British Baking Show Promo
The promo photo on Netflix for the Great British Baking Show.

That said, I rather enjoy The Great British Baking Show, which I believe — and you can correct me if I’m wrong — falls into the reality TV genre. It’s kind of fun and very heartwarming (at times) to see the contestants help each other out. There’s very little (if any) friction between the folks vying for the prize of top chef. I watch people struggle (or not) to bake amazing things. They succeed (or fail miserably). The hosts provide just the right amount of comedy while the judges keep things grounded. Along the way, I learn a bit about baking techniques and how people’s backgrounds influence the kinds of foods they make. There’s no fake drama — at least none that I can see. I think that’s what explains why it’s such a hit with many of my friends, although we don’t usually gab about it the way other folks seem to gab about The Bachelor. (For Pete’s sake, even one of the late night TV guys — one of the Jimmys — includes a recap of each Bachelor episode in his monologue. Who cares?)

Blown Away Promo Photo
The promo shot for Blown Away on Netflix.

Recently, while looking for something new to watch, Netflix suggested Blown Away, a contest-style reality TV show featuring glass blowers. This seemed like a good fit for me. I love the look of blown glass and sort of expected the show to enlighten me about glass art techniques, much the way British Baking gives me insight into making custard or layering cakes. I figured I’d give season 1 a try and tuned in for a few episodes.

I was disappointed. Although the show offered many clips of what the glass artists were doing, there was very little in the way of educating viewers about it.

Well, that’s not exactly fair. I remember seeing some onscreen captioning that did explain certain terms and techniques briefly, but all of those seemed to disappear by the middle of the first season’s run of episodes. Other than that, the only time artists or judges explained what was going on was to enhance the drama. “That’s a very risky procedure so-and-so is attempting.” Or “If I don’t do this just right, the whole piece can shatter.” In most cases, these insights were actually the foreshadowing of breaking glass or ruined pieces.

I know that the place must have been full of cameras because of the amount of footage they edited in that set up rivalries between contestants. One contestant leaves the annealer door open too long; cut to another one yelling, “close the door!” Another contestant is yelling at her assistants; cut to the other contestants complaining about the yelling. And don’t even get me started on the way they edited in facial expressions from competitors that were obviously not responses to things that were said in the edited video. In the final episodes, half the scenes consist of one contestant comparing his/her work to the others and saying how much better (or worse) it was or declaring that he/she should win (or should get eliminated).

Four episodes from the end, I already knew who the final face-off would be between: a particularly outspoken and prima donna-ish woman who claimed to be making art that always seemed to be gender related and a no-nonsense man who definitely had superior skills but a similarly unattractive attitude. The editors had been developing the rivalry between them for nearly the entire run of episodes; how could they possibly eliminate either one? I got the feeling the outcome was established long before the show was edited and the scenes they included were edited in to support that outcome. The trouble for me was that I didn’t like either of those last two contestants. And when it came down to the final winner, I preferred the other one to win. (I actually wanted the guy eliminated just before the final round to win; he had the skill and the humility to take his art to the next level with the prize.)

When the series was over — I watched the 10 half-hour episodes over three nights — I was left feeling disappointed. I’d learned next to nothing and felt manipulated. I’d grown to hate the host of the show and the person who won. I felt too much pity for the contestants I thought should have stayed in the running but had obviously been eliminated because they were too much like British Baking contestants and not enough like other reality show contestants who would do anything to win.

I had just started watching the first episode of season 2 — perhaps thinking it would get better? — when I realized that this was probably like most reality competition shows. Fake. Contrived drama. Judging designed to maintain the rivalry between competitors. Little, if anything, to be learned. Why would I waste my time with more of this?

I turned it off.

I spent some time thinking about how this show stacked up against a reality competition that I actually liked: The Great British Baking Show. I wanted to understand why I liked one show and disliked the other. This blog post is the result of those thoughts.

What do you think? Have you seen either show? Can you recommend something you think I might like?

What’s Good About Being Home

It’s the little things.

I’ve been home from my winter travels for nearly four full days now. The initial euphoria has worn off, but I’m still thankful for the little things that make being home such a joy after living in a truck camper in the desert (and beyond) for three months. Here’s a quick list:

Water that I can use freely, without conserving every drop. I don’t generally camp in campgrounds with hookups, full or otherwise. That means that I have to haul water when I need it. Needless to say, the less water I use, the less work I have. I’ve gotten very good at conserving water when camping — my 30-gallon fresh water tank can last a week or longer if I try hard to make every drop count.

Heat. Yes, my camper has a heater, but the heater requires propane and battery power to run. Battery power is usually only an issue in December and early January — or on cloudy days — when there’s less daylight per day. My solar panels do a good job at keeping my battery charged, but running the heater at night can really suck those levels down, potentially damaging the batteries. Since I also use propane to power my fridge, heat my water, and cook, I like to minimize its use for heating. As it is, I burn through about 4 1/2 gallons of propane a week. Refilling a tank requires me to remove it from my camper, get it filled, and then reinstall it. (I have two tanks.)

Hot water all the time. To save propane (see above), I only heat the water once a day, in the morning. I use it to wash myself and my dishes. If there’s any left, it’ll stay warm until evening.

Clean clothes every day. In an effort to minimize trips to the laundromat, I will often wear t-shirts and always wear jeans more than one day in a row. (I brought along enough underwear and socks to last two weeks, so I wouldn’t have to double up on those.) Getting clean clothes meant a trip to the laundromat, which isn’t a terribly pleasant place to hang out. The only benefit to using a laundromat vs. doing your laundry at home is that you can do it all at once, using as many washers/dryers as you need.

Washer/dryer on the premises. See above. If I spill coffee on a white t-shirt, I can throw it right into the wash to get it cleaned before the stain sets.

Shower every day. My camper does have a shower and I’ve learned how to shower using a minimal amount of water — I estimate about 3 gallons per regular shower and 4 gallons if I’m also washing my hair. As I mentioned above, my goal is to minimize water and propane (in hot water) use so if I wasn’t dirty, I didn’t shower.

Comfortable places to sit. My camper is small — after all, it sits on top of a pickup truck! It has limited places to sit; basically I can sit at the table or prop myself up to sit up in bed. Neither is very comfortable. At home, I have sofas, a recliner, stools at my breakfast bar, and chairs at my dining table.

My Truck Camper
Here’s my truck camper, squeezed into a tiny spot in the Arizona desert. It’s the ability to get into tight spots that made me choose this kind of camping setup, but it does have its drawbacks.

Microwave. Simply said, you do not realize how much you use a microwave until you can’t use one. My camper does have a microwave, but the camper needs to be plugged into power to use it. Yes, I have a generator and yes it was plugged in full time when I was parked at my main camp over the winter. But I didn’t run that generator unless I needed to. After all, who the hell wants to listen to it? I don’t. So I went without one for most of my time on the road.

Dishwasher. I’ll admit it: I use a lot of paper plates when I travel. Regular plates mean more dishwashing which means faster water consumption. (See above.) I got a real satisfaction out of loading my dishwasher and turning it on this week — even if it did take three tries to get it running.

Comfort!
This photo says it all: lounging in comfort on the sofa in my living room with my pups, watching TV with the heat on. There’s no place like home!

A television (or two). I don’t watch much television, but I do admit that it’s nice to be able to sit in front of one now and again to unwind, kill time, or just catch up with the latest episode of the Mandalorian or British Baking Show. Or even to watch a movie or documentary recommended by friends. My camper does have a television — and even a DVD player! — but it was seldom worth firing it up, via 100w inverter — to see what my antenna could pick up. When I had an internet connection, I often watched videos on my iPad at bedtime. I much prefer the 65 inch 4K Samsung in my living room, or even the smaller, older, seldom used HDTV in my bedroom.

Indoor space. When it all gets down to it, there’s nothing quite like home to give you the living space that makes you most comfortable. While I really enjoyed the outdoors during my travels, I still spent a lot of time in the very limited space of my camper, especially when the weather was bad. It’s nice to have to walk more than three steps to get to the bathroom or bed or kitchen area.

Recycling. I’m a big proponent of recycling and I just can’t seem to do it easily when I’m on the road. At home, I’ve got a big recycling bin that gets emptied every two weeks. I make more recyclable garbage that regular garbage. On the road, it’s sometimes a challenge to find a place to dump the garbage I make.

My winter travels are comfortable enough, but not nearly as comfortable as being home. I travel south every winter to get sun and (slightly) longer days and I’m glad I do. But I’m also happy when I get home and back to the comforts I really appreciate.

On Solo Travel

I reflect on traveling alone after two weeks traveling with a companion.

After traveling with my friend Bill for two weeks and finding myself on my own again, I started thinking about traveling alone vs. traveling with a companion. I began by tracing back the time when I had begun doing the majority of my travel alone.

My History of Solo Travel

My first instinct was to place my solo travel start date in 2012, when my crazy divorce began, but that wasn’t right. I’d been traveling alone to Washington state for work every summer since 2008. I’d even gone to Alaska for a few days in early 2008 for a pair of job interviews. I’d also made plenty of work-related trips to Ventura, CA, and Boulder, CO, in the years leading up to the inevitable split.

And what about the 19-day road trip I took alone in 2005? What a trip! I piloted my then-nearly-new Honda S2000 (which is sitting in my garage at this moment) through Arizona, Nevada, California, Oregon, Washington, Idaho, Montana, Wyoming, and Utah with no plans or reservations — just a bunch of AAA maps and a credit card.

And how about the weeks I’d gone alone to northern Arizona in 2004 when I worked as a tour pilot at the Grand Canyon? Or the dozens of solo cross-country flights with overnight stays that I’d taken alone in my R22 and later my R44 to points as far away from my Arizona base as northern California and the western slopes of the Rockies in Colorado?

And during the rise of my writing career, when I’d traveled to work for training gigs, editor meetings, conferences, and speaking engagements? Heck, I still remember the month when I traveled to six or seven different cities, often bouncing from one to another on airlines before spending a few days at home. Ten airline legs and a round-trip train ride.

And before that, when I worked in corporate America and spent at least 40% of my time traveling to company offices all over the country for work?

Panamint Springs Campground
Here’s the Panamint Springs Campground from my camper just before dawn.

As I sit here in my camper in a very dark, sparsely populated campground in Panamint Springs, CA, I remember that very first solo business trip, which may have been the first time I ever traveled on my own by airliner for more than a night away from home. I’d gone to Lenexa, KS. I’d packed my brand new and very unpractical (as I’d learn) luggage and had been subjected to a number of airline delays to Kansas City that put me in the hotel parking lot sometime after midnight. I was on the second floor of a hotel that apparently didn’t have an elevator and I struggled to get my bag up the stairs. In the morning, I couldn’t remember what my rental car looked like or where I’d parked it. I don’t remember much of the trip after that, aside from finding some excellent barbecue (the real deal) and bringing a bunch of sauce home. Could that really have been my first solo trip? Seems like it to me.

Admittedly, not all of these trips were 100% solo. My early work-related travel was sometimes shared with a coworker who would travel with me to the destination and hang out with me after work. I remember one particular trip where I went with two other female coworkers to the Buena Park, CA, location of our company for a three-week audit. On one of the off weekends, we hopped on a plane and went to Tahoe for two nights so they could get some skiing in. On another trip to the same California office, my coworker and I drove down to La Jolla for the weekend. Still, it’s not quite the same as sharing a trip with a life partner.

Of course, I first realized that much of the travel in my life has been alone years ago when I wrote a blog post titled “About the Header Images.” In that post, I go through the exercise of reviewing every single image that appears in the random rotation atop the pages of this blog, providing a short summary of what each one is about. While I may have added and removed a few images since then, there are plenty in that blog post that still appear here; if you’ve ever wondered what a specific shot is, grab a cup of your favorite beverage and scroll through that post. You might catch something in the tone of my comments; I suspect I wrote it when I was still bitter about how my divorce played out and before I realized what a great gift my wasband had given me by leaving.

The Pros and Cons of Shared Memories

Early on in my friendship with Bill, I mentioned that the thing that bugged me most about being completely estranged from a person I’d had a very long relationship with — in this case, my wasband — was that I couldn’t discuss shared memories with him.

You know what I mean. You go someplace or do something especially memorable with a person and you say to that person “remember when we…” and follow that up with a nice chat or maybe even a good laugh about the experience.

In these cases, the experience is usually shared by just the two of you. The memory doesn’t require any backstory to share together, as it might when sharing it with someone who wasn’t there.

For example, I could remind my wasband of the time we managed to get the two drive wheels of our rental car off the ground when he drove off the road and hit a cattle guard post. If I told you about it, I’d have to tell you about the dirt road out in desert between Tombstone and Tubac, about how he was probably driving too fast, about how the road looked like it curved one way but actually curved the other, about how he tried to correct the turn and the car went out of control. I’d have to tell you about the comedy of me holding the equivalent of a 7/11 Big Gulp and having it fly up into the air and soak into my clothes and the car seat. About getting out of the compact car and finding it teetering on the mostly rotted, broken 4×4 post. About trying a variety of things to get it off until he finally stood behind the car and held the tail end in the up position, like Superman, while I got enough traction on the front wheels to drive it off the post. About how we started laughing about five minutes after we resumed travel and didn’t stop for quite a while.

All I have to say is “Remember when we got the rental car stuck on a cattle guard leaving Tombstone?” And then we could laugh over the details of the memory.

That’s the kind of thing I miss.

Of course, I didn’t only travel with my wasband over the years. I’ve got some good trips in with my friend Janet — especially the one where we helped out a friend with a motorcycle camping business in the southwest and followed him around with my Jeep, doing a good amount of exploring in our off hours. (Yes, I’ve done some rock crawling in a stock Jeep in Moab. It’s all about tire placement.) I’ve done trips with my sister and my brother. I can even still recall memorable experiences of early family vacations — especially the time in Maine when I got my first helicopter ride or the trips to Virginia when I learned to catch blue claw crabs with a piece of sting, a chicken bone, and a net.

So yes, I do have plenty of travel experiences to recall with other people who aren’t as pigheadedly stupid as my wasband is.

I think the ability to share and recall experiences with other people help keep relationships and memories alive. I think they’re important parts of our mental well-being, especially as we age and memory starts failing.

As you might imagine, I’m very glad to have “remember when…?” experiences with someone new.

The Benefits of Solo Travel

My friend Bill travels alone just about all of the time. He likes it. And by talking with him about it, I realized that I like it, too.

If you can put aside any desire to create “remember when…?” experiences or unfounded fears of being by yourself — seriously, get over that shit — the benefits of traveling alone are easy to see.

The main benefit, of course, is decision making. When you travel alone, you make all of the decisions — and have the freedom to change your mind as often as you like. Want to turn left enroute because the sign you didn’t expect to see says there’s a waterfall down that road? Do it. Want to spend three nights instead of one at a lakeside campsite you’ve found because it’s way better than you expected it to be? No problem. Want to completely skip that side trip to the coast because you’ve heard about an interesting spot inland with dark night skies and miles of hiking trails through forests? Go for it!

(My biggest pet peeve of traveling with my wasband was trying to make a plan change and hearing him say, “But I thought we were going to…” Pardon me, but fuck that bullshit. I’m so glad I never need to hear those words again.)

Another benefit that not many take advantage of is the opportunity to talk to strangers. I’m not sure why it’s so easy for me to strike up a conversation with someone I don’t know — maybe my background growing up in the New York metro area? Maybe I inherited it from my grandmother, who talked to everyone? — but it serves me well to this day. I talk to strangers all the time, whether I’m waiting in line at the check out counter of a supermarket, standing at a trailhead map, or passing someone in a campground with an usually cool camper.

My favorite story of the benefit of talking to strangers is from 1995, when I was spending the winter (mostly alone) in Yarnell, AZ, trying to escape the winter cold of my New Jersey home. (I guess I forgot to mention that solo three-month trip in my list above or the 10-day trip a few months before it when I searched for and found my winter lodging. I really have done most traveling alone for most of my life.) My brother had flown out for a visit and we decided to take a trip up to the Grand Canyon for a few days. We were waiting in line for breakfast at El Tovar, the historic hotel at the South Rim, which used to have a really excellent restaurant. A guy traveling alone was standing in line behind us. We struck up a conversation and eventually asked him to join us so he didn’t have to eat alone. He did. During our breakfast conversation, we talked about places we’d traveled to and he mentioned a hot spring at the very south end of Big Bend National Park in Texas. The way he described it, it sounded really nice. A month or so later, when my future wasband joined me for the drive back to New Jersey, we detoured down there to check it out. It was everything he’d told me and so much more. It created yet another “Remember when…?” experience for us.

It’s by talking to others that we learn about new things and places that they have experienced and some of those things and places might be things we want to experience, too. Why consult a guidebook about tourist-worn destinations when you can chat up someone camping a half mile away from you while on a morning walk and learn about other campsites in remote areas of the desert southwest? Why search the web for the same old crowded hot springs options when you can pick the brains of a couple from Canada at a hot spring in Holtville, CA to learn about a remote spring along the Colorado River in western Arizona? Why, for Pete’s sake, would you even consider consulting Yelp to get the real low-down on a restaurant or shop when you can ask someone who’s actually been there and can give you his take on it?

Grimes Point
I learned about the petroglyphs at Grimes Point by talking to a stranger yesterday.

And yes, I know you can talk to strangers when you’re traveling with someone else. I usually do. But I’ve also found that your opportunities to talk to strangers may seem limited when you are already talking to the person standing next to you. It’s the alone time that makes it easy to strike up a conversation with someone else. And the freedom to talk for as long as you like — without a companion reminding you of your next destination — that makes it so much more beneficial.

Oddly, Bill makes this moot. Like me, he also likes to talk to strangers and does it whether i’m standing next to him or not. (Like I did at the Grand Canyon 26 years ago with my brother standing next to me.) And because we weren’t joined at the hip during the two weeks we traveled together, we both had plenty of opportunities to chat with others — and learn new things.

Back to Solo Travel

It’s the day after I began writing this blog post at near the western edge of Death Valley National Park. Since then, I’ve descended down into the Owens Lake area, stopped for an Internet fix, and uploaded my blog post about traveling with my new friend, Bill. And I made a series of solo decisions for a three-day drive the rest of the way home.

Sierras
Here’s a view of the Sierra Nevada Mountains from the intersection of Route 136 (out of Death Valley) and Route 395. I watched those mountains grow ever closer as I descended out of the park.

What did I do? Well, I followed a series of numbered routes from Panamint Springs, CA to my eventual overnight camp near Lovelock, NV: 136, 395, 6, 360 (which I have dubbed Wild Burro Way), 95, and I-80. All of these roads were either one or two lanes in each direction with speed limits ranging from 55 to 70 and only the last one was an interstate highway with a speed limit of 80. There’s no reason to hurtle down the blacktop to your next destination when you can take back roads that move you along at a decent pace and give you something more interesting to look at than the occasional truck stop. (While I don’t mind getting on an interstate highway once in a while, Bill absolutely abhors them. I know other drivers who never take the back roads; they have no idea what they’re missing.)

Father Crowley Point
Early morning light in Rainbow Canyon from Father Crowley View Point. Can you imagine being here when a fighter jet screams through? I witnessed it once years ago.

Along the way, I stopped to make breakfast at Father Crowley View Point, a scenic view on the west side of Death Valley that’s known for the low-flying fighter jets that practice there; i was disappointed that none appeared early that morning — it was about 7:30 AM, after all — while I made and ate a hot breakfast in my camper, did the dishes, and took my pups for a walk. Once I was within a cell signal reception area near Owens Lake, I stopped to check email, Twitter, texts, and phone messages and to upload the blog post I’d finished the day before. Then I stopped for gas in Lone Pine, for early lunch at a place Bill recommended in Bishop, and a Ford dealer in Bishop where I had some annoying warning lights turned off. (When I got my oil changed earlier in the month, the guys who had done it had failed to reset the reminder and it was also nagging me about a fuel filter.) I had plotted my route north to stop at rock shops along the way and, after passing two that looked permanently closed, found one that answered my phone call and let me in. I bought 6 pounds of Fallon Wonderstone rough — exactly what I had been hoping for since seeing some near Tecopa — for a lot less than I thought I’d have to spend. The woman who sold them to me told me about where she and her husband had dug them up, not far from an archeological park called Grimes Point. I headed there next and took a short walk with my pups to look at the petroglyphs. (Sorry, I can’t recommend this sone when I’ve seen so many others that are so much better.) I almost parked for the night in the desert near there — I’d actually stopped the truck and climbed into the camper with the girls — but it was only 3:30 PM and I was getting bad vibes about the place. So I consulted an app I have that lists various camping areas and found Humboldt WMA near Lovelock; about an hour and a half later, I was navigating down a muddy road to a nice campsite on what looks like a canal. I had the whole place to myself; it was dead quiet and dark overnight.

Humboldt Sunset
It was cold and windy when I parked for the night at the Humboldt Wildlife Management Area, but I did get to see the sun set.

I admit that I drove by at least two places I would have turned in if I weren’t so focused on getting home. I don’t know why it’s pulling me forward the way it is, but I suspect it has a lot to do with being away for three months and just wanting to enjoy the conveniences of living in a house instead of a truck camper.

After being with a travel companion for two weeks, it did feel a bit weird, at first, to continue traveling on my own. But I got over that quickly. After all, so much of the traveling in my life has been solo, so it really is second nature at this point.

And I do enjoy it.

It Feels Good to be Looking Forward

A quote by Dan Rather sums it up nicely.

I was listening to NPR yesterday morning when the breaking news came: enough votes had been counted to call the US presidential election for Joe Biden.

I followed the responses on Twitter, which I’d been pretty much avoiding since Election Day. I knew that doom scrolling Twitter or watching red and blue maps on TV or the web wasn’t going to change the results. It would just put me in the nervous, nail-biting state so much of America — and the world — was in.

So I waited.

Even on Friday, when a website I’d never heard of (and won’t link to here) called the election for Biden and was retweeted by so many of my Twitter friends, I refused to accept the results. As I told friends, I’m waiting for AP or NPR to call the results. Until then, I was not going to believe that either party had won.

So I really welcomed the news on Saturday morning. Not only would I stop hearing people complain about how long it was taking, but the candidates that could help us recover from the four-year nightmare of the Trump administration would be taking the reins. There was hope for America’s future after all.

Joy on Twitter — and Worldwide

I spent a lot of time on Twitter yesterday. Doomscrolling was over. Now it was joyscrolling. What else could I call it? So many happy people celebrating with tweets. And then sharing photos and videos of celebrations in the streets. Yes, people were actually dancing for joy in the streets of cities all over the world. And when photos and videos of celebrations in other countries started rolling in — fireworks in London, church bell pealing in Paris — I was almost brought to tears. The world had been watching and they were happy for us, happy that we’d used our democratic process to vote out a dangerous tyrant.

Four Seasons Shirt
@sawdustbear on Twitter designed these shirts; all profits go to the runoff elections for Georgia senate seats.

There was more of the same overnight and this morning.

Joyful tweets. Jokes about Trump. Jokes about Rudy Giuliani’s press conference in the back parking lot of a landscaping company next door to a porn shop. (WTF? Buy your souvenir t-shirt here; I did.) Tweets from people sharing their feelings about voting out a narcissistic, misogynist, failed businessman who should have died in obscurity after his stint as a reality TV star. (WTF are Trump supporters thinking?) Links to articles in newspapers and on websites about the ramifications of the results. Congratulation tweets and statements from world leaders glad to see that America might be getting back on the path to its world leader status.

And a tweet from Dan Rather with the simple observation that it felt good to be looking forward.

This pretty much says it all for me. Instead of having to worry about what Trump is going to say or do next to take America backwards into the 1950s or embarrass us on the world stage, we can look forward to a president who will help us get past the COVID-19 virus, rebuild our damaged economy, and get back into our previously held position as world leader. He’ll tackle America’s real problems — instead of promoting resorts and playing golf — such as our failures in health care, education, and environmentally friendly energy solutions. He’ll embrace science and scientists, putting his trust in them — as he should — to help us move forward in the technologies that were shunned by the Trump administration.

And maybe — just maybe — he’ll be able to stitch our divided nation back into UNITED States.

Honestly, I think this will be his biggest challenge. As long as Trump supporters and their sick, selfish, xenophobic mentality exists, the United States will remain divided.

Trump supporters don’t understand that what made America great in the first place was its melting pot of immigrants bringing in knowledge and new ways of thinking and willing to work hard to get ahead. They don’t even seem to remember that America is a nation of immigrants — ask any of the native people who were a lot better off before “white men” came. (And many thanks to the Navajo, Hopi, Yavapai, Tohono O’odham, and other Native American peoples in Arizona for helping to turn Arizona blue.)

And Trump supporters don’t understand that the country is strongest and best able to take the world stage as a leader when all of its people are housed, fed, healthy, and educated. Ironically, these people — many of whom are struggling to meet these basic needs in their own family — are okay with letting fulfillment of these needs come at a high price. Why should someone go into deep debt to get an education that will help them start life with good job or career? Why should someone have to struggle to cover the cost of health insurance, or forego medical treatment they can’t afford, or go into bankruptcy when a disease they can’t avoid — like cancer — needs treatment? Why is it that a budget junk food meal at a fast food joint is cheaper than a balanced meal prepared at home? Why are there so many homeless people — homeless veterans, for pete’s sake! — in the richest country in the world?

Why are we so far behind other first world nations in standard of living, happiness, health, education, and well-being?

No, I don’t think Joe Biden will fix all that. But I think he’ll try. And that’s a hell of a lot more than Trump did between his golf outings.

And I know Biden won’t stoke the same divisive hate that made Trump so popular among his small minded supporters.

Nope.

NOPE
Here’s the sticker that’s been on my truck’s rear driver side window for the past four years.

Yesterday, I finally took the Nope sticker off the back of my pickup truck. The sticker had been a Hillary Clinton campaign sticker and originally had her name below the yellow Nope image. I cut it off before putting the sticker on my truck right after the 2016 election.

Throughout the next four years, it got a lot of comments. Some rednecks in Arizona tried to start a fight with me and my friend Janet. I laughed at them. More recently, an older woman in the local Bi-Mart parking lot assured me that Trump would win. I told her she was an idiot if she voted for him and thoroughly enjoyed the rage that came over her as I drove away. In the past, I’ve been asked by Trump supporters what the sticker means; my standard response is, “Look closely and figure out for yourself.” Their reaction when the light comes on is priceless.

Other folks really liked the sticker. I think I got more positive comments over the years than negative ones.

But I took it off yesterday — and was actually quite pleased at how easily it peeled away from the glass. Why? Well, I honestly believe that some Trump supporters will be out for blood and I don’t want to be their target. It’s the same reason so many Biden supporters didn’t put a sign on their lawn. When you live or travel in a red area, you need to be careful.

I don’t need to label myself one way or another. After all, I’m really not supporting a candidate. I’m supporting my country, the United States of America.

All Americans should be doing the same.