Snowbirding 2020 Postcards: Arizona Airplane Flight

I get to ride in the back seat of a small plane behind two generations of pilots.

I spent the last day in January at Falcon Field airport in Mesa, AZ, hanging around with some friends who own a flight school. A highlight of the day was a trip up to Payson, AZ in a Cessna 182 for lunch with my friend Woody and his newly minted private pilot daughter Lindsay.

I’m not a big fan of small airplanes, partly because you can feel turbulence so much more in a plane than a helicopter and partly because I’d spent more time than I wanted to as a passenger in my wasband’s Grumman Tiger with him at the controls. He was a nervous pilot who constantly chased the RPM with the throttle in flight and didn’t let me talk if the air wasn’t perfectly calm. I often got the impression that he was overwhelmed with the task and, because of that, I was never really confident of his skills. Since I don’t fly airplanes, takeoffs (with a stall horn blaring) and landings (which were seldom on the runway centerline) terrified me. I may have screamed once on a particularly bad landing in Wickenburg.

Painted Tower
Back at Falcon Field, I managed to get a halfway decent shot of the artwork painted on the Falcon Field tower, which is visible from the runway.

Fortunately, I have a lot of pilot friends with a lot more experience and, therefore, skills and confidence. Woody is one of these friends. A retired airline pilot who loves to fly, Woody has flown a wide range of aircraft, from tiny Pipers and Cessnas to Boeing and Airbus airliners to Robinson and Schweizer helicopters. If you follow my FlyingMAir channel on YouTube, you may have seen him showing off the King Air he flew up to Washington with his dog and another pilot to spend a week with me. In the past 8 years or so, I’ve flown with plenty of experienced airplane pilots like Woody and I find it an enjoyable, worry-free experience — as long as the turbulence isn’t too bad.

So when Woody invited me to join him and his daughter for a flight up to Payson for lunch, I was all in. They were flying our friend Jan’s Cessna 182, which was a complex airplane. Lindsay had just gotten her private pilot certificate and was on a training path to become an airline pilot. She needed to build experience and get endorsements for a variety of airplane types and the complex Cessna was the first challenge. She sat on the left (the pilot seat in most planes) and Woody sat on the right. I sat in back, which was surprisingly roomy.

Jan's Cessna 182
Jan’s Cessna 182.

The flight was uneventful, although there was just enough turbulence to remind me that I was in a small plane. Woody let Lindsay do all the flying, providing firm instruction when needed but never touching the controls. Lindsay was focused and trying hard to do everything perfectly, but she had the air of someone who was knowledgeable and confident. Our landing in Payson was a bit bumpy, but she greased it back in Mesa. I didn’t hear a stall horn once. Along the way, I was reminded about how poor the visibility is our the front of an airplane with that big fat engine and propeller blocking the view.

Lindsay Takes Off
Lindsay and Woody, side by side on takeoff at Falcon Field. I think Woody was really proud of her — and he should be!

Bartlett Lake
I took pictures and shot video all the way up to Payson and back. I’m not sure, but I think this might be Bartlett Lake along the Verde River.

We parked and got out at Payson, which, because of its higher elevation, was a lot cooler than the Phoenix area. We went into the nearly deserted airport restaurant and had lunch. My patty melt was delicious and huge; I took half in a to-go box. We wanted to buy t-shirts, but they only had size Small left.

Payson Airport Restaurant
The restaurant at the airport was nearly empty when we arrived.

We headed back to Mesa right after lunch — there wasn’t anything else to do at the airport. I got a chance to admire Lindsay’s radio skills. I was a little envious. She was so young, with her whole life ahead of her and a dad to help guide her into an interesting and rewarding career. I complemented her on her flying skills and wished her the best of luck with her training and future.

Snowbirding 2020 Postcards: Lunch at Chompy’s

Pastrami, corned beef, and tongue on rye.

I won’t deny it: there are some things about New York that I really miss. One of them is having a good deli sandwich. A sandwich with more meat than bread, which is remarkably rare west of the Mississippi.

That’s why I was thrilled when my friend Cheryl suggested Chompy’s in Scottsdale for lunch the day I came to visit her. Finally! I could treat myself to a good deli sandwich.

Corned Beef, Pastrami, and Tongue Sandwich
This is HALF of a corned beef, pastrami, and tongue on rye sandwich. I ordered it with a cup of excellent matzo ball soup.

The last time I had a sandwich this good, I was in a kosher deli on Manhattan’s lower east side. Memories!

Added bonus: the hostess was from Brooklyn and I could clearly hear it in her voice. In fact, she looked and sounded just like the actress Constance Zimmer in her Boston Legal TV show role.

Snowbirding 2020 Postcards: El Dorado Hot Springs

An oddly pleasant hot spring an hour west of Phoenix.

Janet and I left Quartzsite on the Wednesday after Tyson Wells Sell-A-Rama show in Quartzsite ended. She was headed for a ranch near Wickenburg where she’s based with her significant other and their horses during the winter months. I was headed for a friend’s house in Laveen, AZ. But first, we’d make one overnight stop: El Dorado Hot Springs in Tonopah, AZ.

We’d heard about El Dorado from a mutual artist friend who really loved the place. I’d tried to research it on the Internet and found a website so messed up that I couldn’t get much information. But I wasn’t in a hurry to get where I was going and neither was she. We figured that it would be nice to soak off the dust of Quartzsite — well, at least I figured that — and this hot spring was on the way.

I’ll start by saying this: it’s a weird place. Located just south of I-10, it has several electric and water hookup sites, as well as some overflow sites, which is where we ended up. The place has peacocks and a very large pig roaming around. There are two kinds of tubs: the big public tub, which you can use as much as you like when you pay for a campsite, or a private tub, which you must reserve and can only use for an hour. The catch: clothing is not allowed in the public tub.

I’m shy and the idea of soaking in a hot tub, naked, with strangers, was not very appealing. So we opted for the private tub and got a 7 PM time slot.

It was dark when we made our way to the tub. It was in a little fenced in area with two lounge chairs and some mellow lights along the top of the fence. The tub itself was made of stone and concrete with lots of embedded agate slabs along the top. The water came out of a pipe and down a little rock waterfall. The tub itself was big enough for 6 or 8 people — certainly plenty large for the two of us.

I can’t begin to tell you how pleasant it was to soak in a hot tub under a star-studded Arizona sky. The water wasn’t hot; it was about body temperature. Very pleasant for long-term soaking. Indeed, we stayed in the water for nearly the full hour.

It was so good that we signed up and paid for another soak the next morning. That’s when I got this photo of our tub.

Hot Tub
One of the private hot tubs at El Dorado.

The place isn’t perfect. There are more than the average number of flies in the camping area and if the wind is blowing just wrong, you can smell the Hickman’s egg farm less than a mile to the west. But it’s mellow and laid back; a nice place for an overnight visit.

Snowbirding 2020 Postcards: Our River Campsite

An aerial view of our campsite at the Colorado River backwaters.

I launched the drone early Thursday morning to capture some aerial views of our campsite. In hindsight, I realize I did it too early — the shadows were still long. But the wind had been blowing too hard to fly safely during the previous days and I didn’t know if it would kick up again. So I launched, grabbed a few photos, and landed. Here are two of them.

River Campsite
Here’s a view from the east and slightly south.

Janet and I are camped on the left. Steve, Karen, Jeff, and Theresa are camped on the right. There’s an access road between our two campsites because there’s a boat ramp there. The water has been too low to launch a boat of any real size so it’s only been used twice — both times by wildlife researchers — since we’ve been here. (I launched my little jet boat here two years ago.)

The body of water we’re on is one of the backwater channels that exist alongside the Colorado River in some places. I don’t know the story behind these areas. Were they cut to drain wetlands? Did they form naturally? Whatever the story, this particular backwater runs about two miles north of our position with various side channels. The only opening to the river is just west of us, although with the water so low, it’s impassible by even my kayak. You can see the Colorado River in the far left of this shot; everything in the top of this frame is in California. (We’re in Arizona.)

Top Down View
Here’s a look straight down at our setup.

If you think there are a lot of vehicles here for just six people, you’re right. On the left, you can see Janet’s trailer (“Joey”) sitting by itself. Below that in the frame is a lineup of my vehicles: my truck camper (“T2”) parked on its legs, my cargo trailer/workshop (“Lily Rose”), and my pickup truck. On the right, you can see Janet’s truck (“Blue’) and her workshop trailer (“the Vega”) parked at the top of the frame, closest to our camp. Below that in the frame is Jeff and Theresa’s truck and fifth wheel trailer. In the top right of the frame is Steve and Karen’s bumper pull trailer. In looking at this, I realize that Steve and Karen’s van is missing from this shot; one of them must have been out with it. If I’d taken the shot the day before, you would have seen their 10×10 work tent set up between the Vega and their trailer.

The campsite is fewer than 3 miles from the freeway, which I’m thrilled about. We usually camp at least 7 miles away and the gravel road we drive to get back and forth into town is a jarring ride that beats the crap out of my truck’s tires and shocks. This site is off that main gravel road, although it’s close to the levee access road. Fortunately, we’re sunk down off of the levee road to nearly the high water mark, surrounded by bushes and long stands of bamboo. We have plenty of privacy and the vegetation prevents dust from getting down into our site.

This campsite is completely off-the-grid. There are no hookups or other facilities so you have to bring in everything you need: power, water, propane, and toilet. My rig has 2 12-volt RV batteries and a total of 360 watts of solar power to keep them charged. It holds 30 gallons of fresh water, but I also have 2 7-gallon jugs to fetch more. I have 2 5-gallon propane tanks that provide heat and hot water and keep my refrigerator running. Over the years, I’ve learned how to minimize toilet usage so the 30-gallon waste tank lasts two weeks without stinking. We do have cell phone service, but it’s weak — usually 1 or 2 out of 4 bars on my phone. If I hold my phone just right, I can get on the Internet.

For the most part, my companions are fine to camp with, although the newcomers, who don’t have solar panels on their rig, tend to run their loud generator a bit too often and long for my taste. (If you’re going to camp off the grid for any length of time, you need solar panels to keep your batteries charged. Running a generator for hours on end is simply inconsiderate to the people around you who don’t come out here to listen to your cheap generator because you don’t know how to conserve power.) We occasionally get together as a group for dinner or a campfire, but more often, Janet and I do our thing independently of the others. She and I are both getting work done here — she’s an artist and I’m making jewelry — but also finding time to fish, go out in our little boats, or go into town to shop or take care of errands like fetching water or propane.

We’ll be here for about two weeks — which is the limit for BLM land. Steve and Karen will pull out Saturday and Janet will do some traveling without her rig for the holidays. She’ll get back for a few days and then we’ll pack up and move out to our next destination at the first two Tyson Wells shows in Quartzsite about 25 miles away.

This is my fifth (I believe) December camping out in this area with my friends. I first did it with my big fifth wheel (“the Mobile Mansion”) and then, when I sold that, continued doing it with the two truck campers I owned (“the Turtleback” and “T2”). I have to say that despite the few shortcomings in comfort, I really do love coming here and I look forward to it every year.

Snowbirding 2020 Postcards: Traffic

I experience Phoenix rush hour traffic in my truck.

On Friday morning, I had to drive to Phoenix for the first day of a three-day art show. I had a setup window that required me to be there by about 7:30 AM. Because I’m camped out in the desert more than 100 miles west of there, I had to leave my camp at 5 AM.

I don’t like driving at night, but the moon was just past full and it illuminated the desert around me with a faint monochrome glow. There were few vehicles on I-10 at that hour — mostly semis — and I was able to easily maintain the 75 mph speed limit most of the way.

Google Maps
Here’s what I saw on Google Maps when I realized there was something wrong with the math.

I watched the readout on Google Maps on my iPhone as I got closer and closer to Phoenix. At one point, I noticed that the math didn’t seem right: I was moving along at 75 miles per hour and had only 38 miles to go, yet Google said it would take a full hour. How could that be? Even when I slowed down when the speed limit dropped to 65 and probably 55 in the city, I should still be able to make it in much less than an hour. Like maybe even 30 minutes.

What I hadn’t accounted for, of course, was rush hour traffic, which I experienced firsthand about 15 minutes later. Stop and go — just like I used to deal with when I had a “real job” in corporate America. I realized that it had been years since I’d been stuck in traffic like that — the kind of traffic where it takes you 15 minutes to go 3 miles. But this was traffic on steroids: at certain points, there were five lanes of vehicles completely stopped.

What was cool, however, was sitting up high in my big truck, being able to look over the tops of the sedans and compact cars ahead of me. I had never realized how much taller my truck was than the average passenger vehicle. There were few semis on this part of the road — I suspect the drivers were smart enough to exit for a truck stop breakfast instead of dealing with the mess. Instead, most vehicles were commuters with just one person per car, leaving the HOV lane pretty much open. And, as I could easily see, the red taillights went on for miles ahead of me.

I did make it to my destination on time. When I’d left camp at 4:57 AM, Google told me I’d arrive at 7:34 AM. I arrived at 7:35. That’s pretty amazing.