Gypsies from The Sanctuary City

Or so sayeth The Ancient One (my dad) when I texted he, Pat and Niece Nat a photo of the RV safely ensconced in its parking space at the Sierra Trails RV Park outside of Mojave. 

We made it on our first leg to this wonderful little oasis. Fortunately, the notorious Central Valley winds were nil and the fabled high desert heat not evident. 

I'd planned to get out of the house at 8 but missed it by 15 minutes. Then another 15 filling the other half of the apparently very large gas tank. What the hell, the trip is on. After yesterday's drive from the rental place and my ring finger bruised from gripping the steering wheel. Not made any better, either, by the innumerable trips up and down the RV steps using my hands and arms as much as my legs.

But by the time I had gone through the usual (even counter-commute) bottlenecks from I-580 onto I-205 connecting to I-5, I'd become comfortable enough to hold the wheel with one hand while the other reached for smokes or water (tell no one about the former). My first stop was to be the one Maureen and I always made on our many trips to see my family or go to dog shows. The McDonald's off the Westley exit. Under construction but the drive-through was open. No way was I ready to test that. On to Carl's Junior to see if it had anything edible. Shady characters hanging out at the curb looking at the white-haired lady in the obviously rented RV. 


On to the truck/travel center place where I picked up trucker's coffee and a wanna-be Egg McMuffin. Sharing the latter, of course, with My Boy who was being the excellent traveler he is in the folding crate that barely fits in The Rig. Okay, it isn't a "rig" per se, but it is bigger than his van. Yes, my fingers are still attached to my hand.




With Wille on my mind, we were on the road again for the long haul through America's fruit and nut basket where the signs have changed from "Congress/Pelosi/Boxer Created Dust Bowl" to something about dams making California great again (there are no rivers through the heart of the state so I don't have a clue what that's about unless farmers want to dam the aqueduct) and "Is It Wrong to Use Water to Grow Food?"

Hours later, it was time for a break for both of us. I pulled into the last rest stop before Bakersfield, "The Armpit of California." Blame Google search, not me. As you may know, it is in Tumbleweed County. Er, um, Kern County. We parked with the big dogs. 

Not long after that stop I decided to exit the long and not winding road for lunch that I'd packed. I also gassed up for the last leg to Mojave. The RV gets just under 10 miles-per-gallon. I'm simply not going to talk about how fast I drive nor even confess the average RPM of the engine. 


My zany companion Google Maps took me on a shorter route that took me through the heart of what the better part of Kern County is all about. Farmland. Two-lane roads, behind trucks but not caring, remembering what driving through Nebraska and West Texas was like. And the Northern Plains when Karen and I, driving from Great Falls, Mont., to Minneapolis, couldn't find a room anywhere because they'd found oil in them thar hills ... oh, I'm driving my life away. 

I made an unscheduled stop in Tehachapi both for a "bio break" and for the iced mocha I was so egregiously denied earlier by the Westley McDonalds being inaccessible. Maureen and I stopped there on a trip south a few years ago. The only thing we found was a sad Subway shop. Now there's so much more! Including a Starbucks (!) suffering in the midst of some kind of barista shortage. But I'd found shade to park in and had my first backing-up-successfully experience.

Finally, we reached our stopping point. Check-in was a breeze and a pleasure with Doris. 

Terry, maybe her husband/partner, helped me back in. I did a couple of trips back to the office, merely a few yards away, for other help. Obsession kicking in again, I couldn't figure out how to hook up to the sewer line. Oh! Cruise America didn't give me a gizmo to attach to the black water hose. Terry wedged it in there with a rock. Since the RV park has bathrooms and showers, I don't intend to go that far with my inaugural RV trip but it never hurts to have the peace of mind. Then my electricity wasn't working. I'd already chatted with the neighbors one over who were on their way to Death Valley (at their request for recommendations, I suggested all of it or any of it). New neighbors pulled in with a Winnebago extravaganza that made me drool. Dude said that it would help if I switched the power at the pole on. Oh. Then he brought me a book to read and give back to him which, for me, constituted reason enough to enjoy some slightly yellowish adult beverage. 

It's quiet here, other than an occasional vehicle speeding by on the not-freeway. The air is clear. The moon seems to be waxing. It is pleasantly cool. Merlin's trying to figure out where he wants to sleep.

Right now, he's on the bench seat across the table from me but I've decided that I'm not quite ready to make the ascent into the cab-over sleeping quarters so he's going to have to deal with me lowering the table, making something that approximates a bed and sharing. 

And to all a good night.