We were taking our time moving westward. After a two-day layover outside Flagstaff, we felt ready to ride, but by Kingman, Arizona we were tired. Garmin maps showed a road going north into the desert at the Franconia Rd exit.
There's nothing to see in this image; it's simply a memento
(though the bidet thinks it adds a juanty spin)
After a high-speed traverse of deep sand, first one way, then coming back, I had to admit the road wasn't there. With no energy to explore further, we made camp between the freeway and the railroad tracks...a mistake. The trains ran every 20 minutes until midnight, then about once an hour. The freeway didn't get quiet until around 1:30 a.m.
It'd been hot in the afternoon and I'd parked across from her to take advantage of the shade from her camper. At 3:00 a.m. two pickups managed to squeeeeeze between our vehicles. They honked (warningly, annoyedly?) as they roared off.
Soon several other vehicles arrived and baaaarely managed to get through. Then came A REALLY BIG truck. I sat up and flashed my headlights to let 'em know I was there. I got out, pulled on muh pants, moved the water jugs and cooler out from behind Phoebe, threw the luggage from the hood inside and moved the box off the driver's seat. I then backed to the other side of the road and parked. We watched -- she'd gotten up to see what was going on -- as several LARGE rigs drove by. The string of lights grew as people accumulated near some heavy equipment we'd seen parked on and next to the tracks. Soon it was all going.
We didn't get much sleep and in the morning dragged ourselves around, bemoaning the bizarreness of it all. An "inspector" stopped by and said he didn't know where the Main People were from but all the workers were local; they'd been told to be at the job-site at 3:00 a.m. It sounded just plain cruel.
Fortunately, around 11 p.m. the night before, I'd made a reservation at the Holiday Inn in Victorville. It took us 3.5 hours to travel the 130 miles. Our spliffoes were drooping so badly we could barely haul our stuff up to the room. Supper was delightful though as we emptied her refrigerator. She's heading into the city and will be well-fed from here on.
Spliffoes are the poochy parts on a (tabby) cat's face
where their whiskers come out
For those unfamiliar, here's what spliffoes normally look like
bizarre indeed, I hope by now i hope you can laugh at the fact, that seemingly in the middle of nowhere, you happen to choose to camp in the middle of a midnight crossing.
ReplyDeleteI musta been mean to a cat or something.
DeleteBad karma comin' tuh git me.