An Overnight Hiking Escape, Part II: Flagstaff

The second day of my overnight getaway.

As I blogged earlier in the week, on Sunday I went hiking with a Meetup group in Sedona, AZ. But rather than go home afterward, I decided to spend the night in Flagstaff and do some more hiking among the aspens the next day.

You see, one of my Facebook friends, who is also an aerial photography client, Rebecca Wilks of Skyline Images, posted an update about the fall colors in the Flagstaff area. For those of you unfamiliar with Flagstaff, it sits at about 7,000 feet elevation and has many groves of aspen trees. In September and October, the leaves turn yellow. The result is beauty.

I read her update and was bummed out. This would likely be my last autumn in Arizona and I’d miss the aspens changing. I might never get another opportunity to see them.

But then I thought about it and realized there was no reason to miss them. After all, it isn’t as if I’m working. I’m just hanging out at home, packing at my own pace, waiting for divorce stuff to happen around me. I’d just tack on a day in Flagstaff after my day in Sedona.

Plan made, I called around and found a hotel that accepts pets, the Drury Inn. Not my first choice, but no real complaints. I booked a room and, on Sunday afternoon, I began the short drive up Oak Creek Canyon from Sedona to Flagstaff.

Although it was early enough to do a short hike when I arrived in Flag, I was exhausted, sticky, and stinky from my hot hike in Sedona with the group. I elected to take a nice hot shower, try some of the “happy hour” food they offered at the hotel, and just take it easy. Penny the Tiny Dog didn’t seem to mind. I’d brought along her bed and since she was just as tired as I was, we both relaxed. I had two bloody marys in the lobby and nibbled on some soup and some macaroni and cheese for dinner. By nine, I was asleep.

We got an early start in the morning. The plan was to visit two locations: Lockett Meadow and the Inner Basin Trail on the east side of the San Francisco Peaks and the Kachina Trail near the Snowbowl. After a quick free breakfast of oatmeal and coffee, Penny and I were packed and ready to go by 7 AM.

Lockett Meadow

Locket Meadow MapThe road to Lockett Meadow is not paved. I was driving my Honda S2000, which probably has about 6 inches of clearance on the bottom. (At least it seems that way.) I was a little concerned when I saw the sign that said “Road Not Maintained for Passenger Vehicles,” but when you consider that the road to my house is not maintained at all and is currently in deplorable condition and I drive it every day with the Honda, I was willing to give it a try.

It turned out to be in excellent condition. It climbed up the side of a mountain with no guardrails to stop a skidding car from plunging over the cliff — typical Arizona back road. In the distance I could see Sunset Crater and the Painted Desert beyond it. I kept climbing, reaching an elevation (eventually) of over 8,000 feet.

My HondaLockett Meadow Campground was at the end of the road. So were the aspen groves. I stopped and snapped a few photos, including this shot of my car parked alongside the road.

I drove through the campground. It was about half occupied. I thought about what a great place it would be to stay for a week or two in the mobile mansion. And then I thought about how unlikely that was to happen.

Inner Basin TrailheadIn the back of the campground was the trailhead for the Inner Basin trail. I parked the car among the SUVs in the small lot and got out with Penny to take a look. The trail looked dark and wound into the forest. It didn’t look very inviting. Although Penny was ready to go, it didn’t look like the kind of hike I wanted to take early in the morning. I was more interested in photographing the aspens; there were plenty of subjects back out in the meadow.

But there was one thing at the trailhead I want to share, especially since the first line was so appropriate to my situation. It’s a passage from the Navajo Blessingway:

Today I will walk out; useless burden will leave me.

I will be as I was before; a cool breeze will wash me.
I will have a light body; I will be happy.
Nothing will hinder me.

I walk with beauty before me. I walk with beauty behind me.
I walk with beauty below me. I walk with beauty above me.
I walk with beauty around me.

After thinking about that for a moment, we returned to the car and drove back out to the meadow. I took a few shots and was generally happy with what I got. But as I was driving away from the place, I caught sight of a small pond with a perfectly smooth surface. My brain shouted: reflections!

Aspen ReflectionsI love including reflections in my photographs. This location did not disappoint me. I was able to make a number of photographs that really showed off the view with perfect reflections.

More Aspen ReflectionsI got back into the car again, now ready to leave. But again, as I was driving off, I caught sight of another place where still water was surrounded by trees. Leaving Penny in the car, I went to investigate and made a few more reflection photos. It was really much more than I had hoped for.

We retraced our route back down the mountain. It dumped us onto Shultz Pass Road. I checked my map. The road, which was unpaved, would take us along the base of the mountain back toward Flagstaff. In my typical explorer fashion, I decided to give it a try.

I didn’t get very far. At the first place where water had crossed the road, large rocks lay in the roadway. I thought I had enough clearance to get over them, but I soon heard (and felt) rocks under the floorboard. Not good. I stopped to take a peek underneath. Sure enough, there were a bunch of rocks beneath the car that I simply would not clear. Recalling how my soon-to-be ex-husband had punctured the oilcan on his Honda years ago, I decided to clear the rocks out from under the car, back up, turn around, and go back the way I’d come.

Fortunately, all this happened about 50 yards from a forest service guy who was parked with his truck in a clearing. When it became clear that I would not be able to reach the rocks without lying in the dirt, he offered me a shovel. I used the handle to pull the rocks out. Then I got in, backed up carefully, and returned the shovel. He probably thought I was nuts for trying the road in the first place. And he was probably right.

Return to Flagstaff

I drove back to Flagstaff on Route 89, which turns into Route 66, and took the turn for Route 180. I was less than 10 miles from the Snowbowl.

Unfortunately, along the way I had begun thinking of a friend of mine — or someone I thought was a friend of mine — who worked in Flagstaff. My last contact with her had been an email message telling her about my marital woes and warning her that the same thing could happen to her. I never got a response. I wondered what she thought of me and wanted very badly to see her and explain.

That was gnawing at me as I drove through Flag. I didn’t know where she worked or even if she was working that day. But I could find out. I could try to see her. I could try to explain.

But I kept driving.

I was about 3 miles short of the Snowbowl turn when my phone rang. It was my friend, Rod. I pulled into a trailhead parking lot and stopped in the shade to talk. And that’s when I fell apart.

You see, I was still hurting badly about my divorce and the way it all went down. My husband’s betrayal was like an open wound. Thinking about this friend in Flagstaff, who is married to my husband’s old roommate, had only made matters worse. When Rod called to check in with me, I broke down crying.

We had a long talk. I cried a lot. He gave me a good pep talk. He told me what everyone else had been telling me for months: that my husband was an idiot and a bum (and other things) and I was so much better off without him. I wasn’t convinced. Not yet. That would come later in the week.

But Rod did convince me that my Flagstaff friend wasn’t a real friend at all. If she was, he argued, she would have called me. No friend would simply ignore me when I was in such obvious emotional distress.

Rod is definitely a real friend.

While I talked, I let Penny out of the car. She wandered off into the woods. I kept an eye on her. There was something on the ground that she found very interesting. I walked over to check it out. It was a skunk skeleton. Skunk skeletons smell just like skunks. So did Penny.

The Kachina Trail

Kachina TrailWhen Rod and I finished talking, I felt better. Penny and I got back into the car and continued to the Snowbowl. We followed the winding road all the way up to the entrance to the ski area. Just to the right was the parking area for the trailhead.

The Kachina Trail is part of the Arizona Trail, a trail system that stretches north/south through Arizona. This was news to me. The only part of the Arizona Trail I’d ever hiked was at the Grand Canyon.

I chatted with some Canadians in the parking lot while I prepped for the hike. Like me, they were here to see the fall colors. Penny and I left them putting on their hiking shoes and hit the trail.

Kachina Trail TrailheadLike the other trail, the Kachina trail led into the woods. But whether it was the time of day — after 10 AM — or just the kind of trail, it seemed a lot brighter and more inviting. But what really surprised me was the elevation — the GPS in my phone reported nearly 9,300 feet. Whoa.

The trail wound into the woods, paralleling the road I’d driven up, which was just out of sight beyond the trees. I could hear vehicles driving up and down, including trucks and loud motorcycles. Not the kind of experience I wanted. But then the trail curved away from the road and it got quiet, with just the sound of the wind in the trees and the birds. The leaves on scattered aspen trees fluttered with a sound like falling water.

On the Kachina TrailThe trail was relatively narrow and wound up and down through the forest, between trees and around large rocks. Penny, on her leash, led the way, stopping occasionally to sniff at something. We met a young family with children walking the other way. I kept up a good pace without getting winded, despite the elevation, and was glad again for the health benefits of my recent weight loss.

I didn’t take many photos. Truth is, I was disappointed. The aspens weren’t anywhere near peak along the trail — perhaps because it wound along the south-facing side of the mountain. Although the trail was pleasant enough, it didn’t offer what I was there for. So after hiking about a mile (per my GPS), I decided to turn back.

I met the Canadians on my way back. I told them that the trail was nice, but I was there mostly for photography and wanted more aspens. We chatted briefly again, then went our separate ways.

Aspen Corner

At Aspen CornerOn the way up to the Kachina Trail, I’d passed a place called Aspen Corner. There was a parking area there with paths through an aspen grove. Those trees were at near peak color. I decided to wander around there for a while.

This is what I was here for. Bright yellow leaves against a deep blue sky. (Yes, clouds would have made the photos more interesting, but this is Arizona.) The cool darkness of the forest offered a magnificent contrast to the sun-splashed leaves and white bark.

Self-Portrait in AspensPenny and I wandered around for a while. I asked another photographer to take a photo of usy, but the exposure was so bad you can barely see us. I also tried a self-portrait using the camera’s timer and did a little better — although I’m squinting into the sun so badly that I don’t really look very appealing. Oh, and do you know how difficult it is to prop up a DSLR vertically on a log?

We wandered around for a while and I took a bunch of photos. By then, it was after noon. I was expecting a phone call at 1 PM and needed to be somewhere with a good cell signal. I also wanted to wash the Lockett Meadow dust off my car before I drove home. So we headed back to the car and started the drive back to Flagstaff.

Heading Home

A while later, with gas tank filled, car washed, and a fresh bottle of water for sipping, Penny and I headed back to Wickenburg. I took my phone call along the way, at an exit off I-40 between Flag and Williams. The drive back was nearly 3 hours long on what I consider the fastest route: I-40 to 89 to Iron Springs Road through Skull Valley, Kirkland Junction, and Yarnell.

It was an emotional drive for me. Along the way, I did a lot of thinking…and crying. I just have to work all my woes out of my system. It’s part of the healing process and I know it will take a long time.

The first thing I did when I got home was to give Penny the Skunky Dog a bath.

A Trip around the Peninsula, Day 1: Wenatchee to Port Angeles

We take a road trip around the Olympic Peninsula in Washington state.

After three months contractually bound to the Quincy and Wenatchee areas of Washington, I was finally off contract at the end of August. Mike flew out to Washington and we went on a road trip to the Olympic Peninsula. This series of blog posts is a summary of that trip, with photos.

The start of our five-day vacation.

After fueling our diesel pickup — the only vehicle available to us here — we headed out of Wenatchee on Route 2 toward Stevens Pass. We made a number of stops along the way.

First, Anjou Bakery in Monitor, which makes an outrageously good pear danish. It’s in a funky old building with indoor and outdoor seating. They make coffee drinks, too, but I’ve decided to avoid that on my next trip. Their coffee isn’t very good — at least in my opinion — and it takes far too long for them to prepare it.

Next, Leavenworth. If you’ve ever been to Leavenworth, you’ll know that it’s a manufactured tourist town. They redid the entire town with a Bavarian theme, making it feel almost as if you’re in a Black Forest village somewhere in Germany. (I’ve actually been to Germany’s Black Forest, so I can attest to this.)

For the record, I don’t like Leavenworth. It’s a fake place that exists primarily for tourism. The parking and traffic situation is horrendous. Its multiple shops and restaurants are designed to suck tourists in and relieve them of their money. Little of what they offer is any better than you’d find at any other similarly themed tourist shop or town. I know that all tourist towns are like this and I don’t like any of them. Frankly, I don’t know why so many people go there.

But Leavenworth does have two shops that I love:

  • The Cheesemonger is possibly the best cheese shop I’ve ever been to. Not only do they have an amazing selection of cheeses from around the world, but they are well-staffed with knowledgable and helpful counter people. Cheese tasting is not only allowed but encouraged. This shop is my primary reason for subjecting myself to a trip to Leavenworth.
  • Cured is a smoked meat shop where you can get excellent bacon, sausage, wursts, jerkies, and more. Their buckboard bacon is to die for. If I make a cheese run, I also stop here for meats. Bonus: there’s motorcycle parking right across the street.

On this visit, we also stopped at the Bavarian Bakery on the right as you come into town from Wenatchee. It was recommended by the folks at Cured for bread; they hadn’t received their delivery yet and I like their rolls with the cheese. My grandfather was German and owned a bakery in Cresskill, NJ when I was a kid. For a while, my family lived in an apartment upstairs. So visiting a real German bakery was a treat for me. We bought some plum cake (which my Grandfather also made), pretzels, a coffee cake, and the rolls. I wasn’t terribly impressed with any of it, but it wasn’t bad. I’m just picky.

We loaded up the cooler that we’d brought along and headed out of town on Chumstick Road. That would take us winding through the mountains, though the tiny town of Plain before reaching Lake Wenatchee. At Route 207, we headed northwest, following 207, then Little Wenatchee Road, then National Forest Development Road 65. I’d ridden this route on my motorcycle the week before but had turned back after 10 miles or so because I wasn’t sure whether it was paved the entire distance.

We took a side trip, following a sign that promised a View Point 4 miles up an unpaved road. The road wound up and around through dense forest, finally depositing us at the promised viewpoint. We could see Lake Wenatchee in the light haze.

Another couple was there — a bit older than us and seriously out of shape. They were wrestling with something heavy in a blanket, trying to get it into the back of their pickup. We didn’t snoop until they were gone. Then we followed the short trail they’d come from and discovered a place where people had been cutting stone from the side of the hill. Cutting, like with a stone-cutting saw. The kind of equipment that requires a generator and probably water to cool the blade. I don’t think they had that equipment; they might have been taking a loose rock. It looked like granite to me, but it could have been something else. (What do I know about rocks?) The whole thing was weird; it had taken us 20 minutes to drive the 4 miles; why would anyone lug stone-cutting equipment up there?

We continued along the Forest Road and, sure enough, not far from where I’d turned around on my motorcycle, the pavement ended. We followed the road through the forest, enjoying the views along the way. At one point, a Jeep caught up to us and we pulled aside so it could pass. Otherwise, there wasn’t much in the way of traffic.

Old Growth TreeI should mention that much of this was old growth forest. An absolutely huge tree grew close to the road and we got out to take a closer look. Its amazing to me that trees this large exist and that so many of them have been cut down. Actually seeing one is a real treat.

The road we were on ended at Route 2 and we continued through Stevens Pass and down to the west side of the Cascades. That’s when the traffic started up. It was Labor Day afternoon and everyone who had journeyed east for the weekend was heading home. I whipped out my iPad and the Maps app and found some alternate routes that paralleled Route 2. We probably saved about 30 minutes of drive time by taking these longer routes, each of which dumped us back on Route 2 after a pleasant drive through farmland or forest. Then we abandoned Route 2 completely in favor of Routes 522 and 524.

We stopped at Snoqualmie Ice Cream shop in Malby. The ice cream was good, but, in my opinion, not worth the very high price we paid for it. And the girl at the counter who served it had the personality of a wet rag.

Sailboat on Puget Sound with Mount Baker in BackgroundBack on the road, we continued along Route 524 to Edmonds and got on line for the ferry to Kingston. We’d timed it well and didn’t have to wait more than 15 minutes to get on the boat. We went up on deck to check out the view. Mount Baker was clearly visible to the northeast and even Mount Rainier could be seen through the haze to the south. I passed the time photographing sailboats we passed, trying to get Mount Baker in the background.

In Kingston, we didn’t hang around. It was getting late and we were hungry and unsure of where we’d be spending the night. We’d already planned on spending Day 2 in Victoria, BC, so we wanted an overnight stay someplace close to Port Angeles, where we’d pick up the ferry. So we headed that way on Route 104 and then 101.

We detoured to Dungeness. I don’t know what we expected to find there, but we didn’t find any interesting lodging opportunities. We did, however, find the Three Crabs Restaurant right on the bay. If I had to rate this place on service or atmosphere, I’d pan it. It had all the charm of a cheap family restaurant catering to people with low expectations. But the food — well that was a pleasant surprise. I had the best fried oysters ever — and I don’t toss around the word “best” very often at all. That made it worth the visit. (And here’s a tip to restaurant-goers who rate restaurants on Google, Yelp, etc.: don’t order steak in a seafood place.)

We got back on the road and headed toward Port Angeles. By this time, it was getting dark. My maps app suggested the Olympic Lodge and we homed in on it. It was a bit bigger and fancier than we expected. But it was evidently also empty. We went to the desk and they offered us a discounted rate within our price range. We took it. The room was large and comfortable. A fountain at ground level outside our window offered a nice soundtrack to a good night’s sleep.

Our Route:

How to Lower Gas Prices

Use less fuel.

Arm and a LegYesterday, during the brief time I was in the Jeep running errands in town, I caught part of an NPR interview with someone about the current fuel price situation. His take was that the fuel companies are gouging us — they’re obviously charging far more than it costs them to produce and deliver fuel.

My response to that: What the hell do you expect them to do?

Addicted to Oil

As one of my least favorite presidents so accurately quipped years ago, “Americans are addicted to oil.” (That may have been one of the few truthful things he uttered during his eight years reign.)

I agree. We are addicted to oil.

Look at it this way: the oil companies are drug dealers. They hook us on their product by making it relatively affordable — the U.S. still pays far less for gas than Europe and most of the rest of the world. The car companies help the process by selling us vehicles that are impractical for most people but have lots of “style” or “status” — which insecure people apparently need. Cities like Phoenix and Los Angeles further encourage us with their urban sprawl and insufficient mass transit, forcing us to drive to work from our dream homes in distant subdivisions.

So we settle in, like junkies, burning our daily fix of fuel. We drive everywhere in vehicles that are far bigger and more costly to operate than we need: trucks and SUVs instead of more fuel efficient sedans. We live in the ‘burbs and commute, alone in our cars, to our workplaces, which are sometimes thirty miles away or more. We’re too lazy to walk anywhere — we’ll often drive across the street from one shopping center to another.

When we’re good and hooked, the prices start coming up.

Bravo, oil companies! You sure know how to work that bottom line!

Hypocritical Whiners

In Wickenburg, I’ve been listening to people whining about fuel prices for the past ten years. They never seem to shut the hell up about it.

It’s the same complaint: local filling stations are gouging them on fuel prices. Wickenburg pays at least 10¢ more per gallon than they do in Phoenix. Funny thing is that these complaints are coming from the same people who think nothing of doing their grocery shopping down in Surprise, 35 miles away. So not only are they driving far more than they need to, but they’re likely buying their fuel where it’s cheaper anyway.

Still, they think our government should somehow intervene and cap fuel prices.

That’s the kicker. The same people who are complaining about fuel prices are the ones who voted in Republican congressmen and senators who are pro big business. The ones that are right behind tax breaks and other incentives for the oil companies. And they’re the same people who are saying we need smaller government and less regulation.

Guess what, folks? You can’t have it both ways.

We Have Empowered Them

I can’t complain about the fuel companies gouging us — which I agree that they probably are. Why can’t I complain? Because I recognize the right of a business to maximize its profit any way it legally can. If that means charging as much as the market will bear, so be it.

You see, there’s this little economic theory called Supply and Demand. As long as there’s demand for a product the provider of that product can charge as much as it wants — or as much as it can get away with. There comes a point, however, when the amount they charge is just too much and demand falls off. As supplies increase, prices go down.

This is basic economic theory.

So as long as we keep buying fuel, they’ll keep selling it to us at the highest prices they can squeeze out of us.

And I can’t fault them for that. We’ve made it possible for them to gouge us.

You Are the Solution

But we also have the power to make it stop.

Instead of complaining about it and carrying on like usual, do something about it. Want some ideas? Try these:

  • If you have a big fat SUV or truck or full size sedan, replace it with something more fuel efficient. There are lots of great options out there and, in some states, hybrid or electric vehicles also come with tax incentives.
  • If you need a big vehicle now and then to haul people or stuff, get a second, fuel-efficient vehicle for other driving. You might find that over time, you’ll save enough in fuel to pay for that vehicle. Or if two vehicles are completely out of the question, consider renting the big truck when you need it.
  • If you commute to work, carpool. Yes, I know this means sitting in a vehicle with other people while driving to and from work. But is that so bad? I carpooled to college for a semester during the first energy crisis and lived to tell about it. You can, too. Best of all, you can drive in the HOV lanes, which will get you there faster.
  • If you have an office job, telecommute. This might be a tough sell to your company, but why not try? Telecommuting not only saves you time and money, but it saves your employer money. How? Well, for starters, the more telecommuters they have on staff, the less office space they’ll need. Sure, you won’t get an office or cubicle with your name on it — you’ll likely have to use a shared space on the days you do come in — but think of going to work with your slippers on — and not having to fill your car with gas twice a week.
  • If you live too far from the office, move. Okay, so this isn’t easy to do, but you have to admit that it is possible. Right now is a great time to buy real estate, too — if you can afford it. Here’s a not-so-secret: Because there aren’t any good jobs in Wickenburg, where we’ve been living for 14 years, my husband works 55 miles away in Phoenix. We bought a cheap condo down there so he wouldn’t have to make the long drive every day. And guess what? He has a roommate who is in the same boat!
  • If you live too far from work, change jobs. Okay, so this isn’t too easy either, but again, it is possible. (Unless you live someplace with no jobs.)
  • If you often drive more than 10 miles to shop, shop online. I’m not talking about groceries here — I’m talking about the other things you might need to buy. The closest bookstore, tech store, and full-blown department store are 35 miles from my home. This might explain why Amazon.com gets so much of my business. And don’t try to say that they’re burning UPS/FedEx fuel. Those carriers are coming to Wickenburg anyway, so the incremental fuel cost is minimal.

These are just a few basic ideas. Surely you can think of more.

And before you start spouting excuses why you can’t do any of these things, why not do a little research to see if you can?

And instead of complaining about the problem, why not be part of the solution?

Remember, the reason they’re gouging us with fuel prices is because they can. We have empowered them. The solution is not government regulation. It’s consumer lifestyle change. When they start to see consumption go down, they’ll know our addiction is faltering. Their logical course of action is to drop prices to get the hook in a little deeper again.

It’s happened before; it’ll happen again. Why not give it a try and see?

The Long Drive with the Long Trailer

I move my mobile mansion from Wenatchee to Lake Powell.

I’ve been traveling for the past week or so, starting in Wenatchee Heights, WA and ending in Phoenix, AZ.

Day 1I left Wenatchee Heights with my 5th wheel RV hooked up behind my husband’s Chevy pickup. The first day’s drive was relatively short: from Wenatchee Heights to Walla Walla, a distance of only 190 miles. Only a small portion of the drive was on a freeway (I-90); the rest was on back roads through farmland.

It rained for part of the drive, but never enough to make the road slick. I took my time. The trailer weighs in at 15,000 pounds and although it tows well, I can never really forget that it’s back there.

At Walla WallaIn Walla Walla, I stayed at the Blue Valley RV Park. It was a relatively pleasant place, with average sized RV spots, full hookups, picnic tables and grass. The trees were too young to give shade, but I bet they’ll be nice in about 5 years. The main building had a pool table, laundry room, and restrooms. Everything was clean and the place was quiet. I got some laundry done, wrote an article for AircraftOwner Online, and relaxed.

I had dinner at two excellent local restaurants: T. Maccarone’s and Saffron Mediterranean Kitchen. It was nice to have a change of scenery. I was there for four nights. The wine with my dinner at T.Maccarone’s is what sent me to Dusted Valley Winery for a tasting, where I bought four bottles of wine.

Day 2 of the DriveOn Friday night, I got the trailer hooked up again and mostly ready to go. I needed to be on the road early for the next leg of my trip: from Walla Walla, WA to Draper, UT (south of Salt Lake City), a distance of 606 miles. I was on the road not long after dawn. The route took me south almost to Pendleton, OR, then onto I-84 through Oregon and Idaho and down into Utah, where I picked up I-15. The landscape started with farmland, then mountains, then more flat farmland, then more mountains, and then finally into the Salt Lake basin. I’d driven the route before with my underpowered Ford F150 pickup towing my old 22-foot Starcraft. It wasn’t fun then; Saturday’s drive was much more tolerable. I stopped three times for fuel and twice for food. It was very unlike me to make so many stops; I usually try to get food and fuel on the same stop, but the situation made that tough. I rolled into Draper, UT’s Camping World parking lot at 6:15 PM local time, just 15 minutes after the store closed. I’d called the week before and knew I could park out back, so I did. I even got to hook up 50 amp power.

Ann TorrenceOn Sunday, @AnnTorrence picked me up for a drive to Ft. Bridger, WY. There was a Mountain Man Rendezvous there with hundreds of people in period clothes set up with period campsites. The “period” was apparently mid 1800s. Ann was there to take photos and research a possibly future book project. I was there to take pictures and look around and have a day off from driving. I didn’t take a single photo, although I carried my camera bag around all day. Well, that’s not true. I did use my BlackBerry to take this shot of Ann. She, in turn, used her iPhone to take a shot of me with my only purchase: a genuine raccoon skin, which I hope to turn into a hat.

After a very pleasant lunch at Cafe Trio in Salt Lake City with Ann and her husband, Robert, I went back to their house to relax on the front porch. @BWJones showed up and I finally got to meet him in person. After a tour of the garden, Ann and Robert returned me to Draper for the evening. Again, Camping World had just closed for the day. No one had left any notes on the RV or truck (which was still attached) and the power was still connected. Alex the Bird entertained us for a while.

Day 3Monday — Labor Day — was my last drive day. I drove from Draper, UT to Page, AZ, a distance of 370 miles. I got a very early start, pulling out of the parking lot at 6:30 AM local time. By the time I stopped for fuel two hours later, I’d already gone more than 100 miles. (I parked with the big rig trucks and discovered that my rig was about as long as theirs.) This part of the drive was mostly on I-15, but started east on route 20 to Highway 89, which took us all the way to Page. The roads were mountainous and there was a lot of climbing and descending. There were also a lot more vehicles on the road, making driving a bit more of a chore.

Thunderbird RestaurantThe only food stop I made along the way was at the Thunderbird Restaurant at Mount Carmel Junction. The place is a bit of a tourist trap, but it does have good “ho-made” pies (whatever that means). Odd thing happened when I tried to leave. They couldn’t give me a bill because the computer was down. Apparently no one knows how to do basic math. All I had was a piece of pie with ice cream and an iced tea. They apparently expected me to wait until the computers came back online. With Alex the Bird in the front seat of the car, that was not an option. Finally, my waitress disappeared into the kitchen where she may have used her “lifeline” to get help with this difficult math problem. The verdict was $7.79. I was afraid to count my change.

I arrived at the Lake Powell Resort just west of Page, AZ at around 11:30 local time. I’d been on the road for 7 hours.

Mike and PlaneMy husband, who’d flown up in his plane and spent a few hours swimming in the lake, met me at the lodge restaurant for lunch. Afterwards, we put fuel in the truck and parked it (temporarily) at Page Municipal Airport. I gathered my belongings — forgetting only two things, one of which was vital — and we loaded into Mike’s plane. Then we started the long (90 minutes), hot (90°F+), and bumpy (I almost got sick) flight to Wickenburg. The only sights of interest along the way — keeping in mind that I make that flight about 1000 feet lower at least a dozen times a year — were a handful of forest fires east of our Howard Mesa place and a heavy rain shower coming out of a remarkably small cloud near Granite Mountain.

Back in Wickenburg, we put the plane away and went straight home. Hot and sweaty, it was good to take a shower in a real bathroom.

I was asleep by 8:30 PM.

What It’s Like to Tow a 15,000-lb Fifth Wheel Trailer 1,500 miles

Or why I’ll never be a long-haul trucker.

I’m writing this from the relative comfort of the desk in my RV. I just completed a 3-1/2 day drive from Arizona to Washington State and am parked alongside a very large garage adjacent to a private heliport at a friend’s house in Auburn.

I’m resting.

The drive was a lot more difficult than I imagined. Difficult enough for me to blog about it. In detail.

No, I’m not going to give you turn-by-turn driving instructions and list the sights I saw along the way. No one really wants to read stuff like that. If you’re at all interested, you can read about the first two days of the drive here. I wrote that two days ago when I was still relatively fresh.

Instead, I’ll tell you why I’m exhausted and why I’m glad I don’t have to drive again tomorrow.

Towing: the Basics

My RV is a 36-foot long Montana Mountaineer fifth wheel. Because our 2001 Chevy Silverado 3/4 ton pickup already had a gooseneck hitch receptor on it, I converted the RV’s hitch to a gooseneck. Well, I didn’t do it. The folks I bought the RV from did it. It makes it a bit tricky to hook up — still not sure how I’m going to line it up when I need to hitch it alone — but it does keep the pickup’s bed free of a bunch of extra hardware.

The trailer is 15,000 pounds max gross weight. I didn’t weigh it before this trip — I wanted to, but didn’t get around to it. (There’s a scale at the local dump in Wickenburg, so it wouldn’t have been so tough. Weigh the truck alone, then weigh the truck with the trailer and do the math.) I don’t think it’s fully loaded, but I bet it still close enough to 15,000 pounds to make the weight debate moot.

The truck can pull the weight. Its manual says it can and it can. I push a button on the gear shift lever to turn on the towing package feature and the Duramax diesel and Allison transmission do the rest. It stays in a lower gear so I can get it up to highway speed and then shifts back down into a lower gear when I brake for engine braking.

It takes a while for the truck to get up to highway speed. Normally, the truck is remarkably peppy for a diesel. That’s one of the things I like about it. But add 15,000 pounds and it’s working hard. 0 to 60 takes about 30 seconds. If I’m on flat road. Add an uphill climb and I might not even get it up to 60.

Add a downhill coast and I’ll have trouble keeping it below 60. And that’s the problem.

The Trick is to Avoid Using the Brakes

Imagine a freight train barreling along at 50 miles an hour. Now imagine some idiot stalled at a crossing on the tracks. He’d better get his ass out of the car and hope his insurance is up-to-date.

I once spoke to a train engineer for Conrail in New Jersey. He told me that if there’s something on the tracks, they don’t even bother trying to stop. Why? Because they won’t be able to stop in time anyway. It could take over a mile for a freight train moving at cruising speed to come to a complete stop. Why? Because of the inertia of all that weight moving at cruise speed.

As I gained experience at the helm of my own personal freight train, I quickly learned that my main goal should be to drive in such a way that I minimized the use of the brakes. There are three reasons for this:

  • It takes a long time to stop — or even to slow down. The less often you need to stop or slow down, the better off you are.
  • Using the brakes wastes fuel. Look at it this way: you pump a lot of fuel through the engine at high RPMs in a lower gear to get the damn thing moving. If you hit the brakes, not only are you throwing away all the stored energy in your weight and speed, but the engine is going to downshift again and use more fuel at high RPMs to slow you back down. May as well punch a hole in the fuel tank and let it drain out.
  • Using the brakes wears down the brakes and works the engine. You have to press harder on the brakes to get a reaction out of them. That means you’re wearing them down more. And with engine braking, the poor engine is working hard even when you’re slowing down. Is that fair?

It’s the Stress that Exhausted Me

The difficulty in slowing down or stopping is where all the stress comes in.

The entire time I was driving, I was on alert. I needed to know that I had to stop or slow down before I had to stop or slow down. So I looked at every other vehicle around me — as well as traffic lights and stop signs when I wasn’t on the freeway — with a critical eye. Is that guy in front of me going to hit his brakes? Is the idiot next to him going to cut me off? Is that traffic light up ahead going to turn yellow before I get to it? Is that school bus up ahead going to stop?

Even when I was on straight, flat freeway with no other vehicles around me, I couldn’t relax. At one point, a dog ran into the freeway in front of me. A dog! Like that freight train engineer, I knew I wouldn’t be able to stop in time. If he didn’t get out of the road, I’d run right over him, just like a freight train. There’s no way I’d try to swerve at 60 MPH with all that weight behind me. I leaned on the truck’s horn. Fortunately for the dog, he ran back where he came from without becoming my victim.

So all day long, hour after hour, I was tensed up, fully alert and ready to react before I needed to. It exhausted me.

Now Add Some Mountains

The route I chose was mountainous. In Death Valley, I was 230 feet below sea level. Near Mammoth Lakes, CA, I was at over 8,000 feet above sea level. For three days, it seemed like all I did was climb up and down mountains.

Up wasn’t a big deal. Press the pedal and burn fuel in second or third gear, trying to maintain a decent speed so as not to annoy the people behind me. It didn’t matter if there was a curve up ahead — I probably wasn’t going fast enough to make negotiating it a problem.

But down…well, that’s another story entirely. The Chevy has never been a good coaster — my 1994 Ford F150 is far better at that — but add 15,000 pounds and gravity can turn anything into a coaster. I had to use the brakes going downhill just to prevent the speed from climbing higher than I could handle. The transmission did its part, of course, but that wasn’t enough on the 9% grade (not a typo) coming down into the Panamint Valley in Death Valley National Park. In second gear, with the engine red-lining, I was still pumping the brakes to keep the speed below 50 miles per hour as I negotiated curves on a two-lane road that hugged the side of a cliff.

You want to talk stress? I can’t imagine anything more stressful than that.

Add Rain

Actually, I can: wet pavement on those curvy downhill stretches.

The rain started on Day 3 and haunted me for the whole day. That’s the day I descended from the mountains in Northern California into southern Oregon. There was this one stretch just south of Ashland on I-5…a lengthy downhill ride hugging the side of a mountain with curves marked for 50 mph. Bad enough dry, but nightmarish when wet and surrounded by tractor-trailer trucks. Who the hell designs highways like that?

I’m an Arizonan. I don’t drive in rain because it doesn’t rain. When it does rain, the roads are slick because of oil accumulation. It’s terrifying. How slick were these roads? I didn’t know and I didn’t want to find out. I just struggled to keep my speed down, imagining the horrific crash if the trailer decided to slide a different direction than the truck was going.

Overreacting? Perhaps.

Reading this, you probably think I’m a sissy. But I have a lot of miles under my belt — I’ve driven clear across the country more times than I can count and have made 3-1/2 round trips from Arizona to Washington since 2005. I’ve driven everything from motorcycles to this rig, including hundreds of different rental cars.

But driving this rig was unlike anything else I’d ever driven. It wasn’t like my Ducati, which I could whip around curves by tossing my weight around. It wasn’t like my Honda S2000, which red-lines at 9,000 RPM and has just the tiniest bit of body roll in curves. It wasn’t even like the Chevy without its load, able to accelerate or stop quicker than you’d think a truck should.

Just the knowledge that slowing down or stopping was going to be so tough had me on edge the entire time.

And that’s what kept me safe.

But when it’s time to return to Arizona, I know one thing for sure: I’ll be planning the route with the straightest, flattest roads I can find.

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