West of Gila Bend

We could fit three of her into my white shirt she's wearing.

Curious phenomena

Parowan Gap - Utah

From the West Side

Closer Up

East Side 
Not sure what's going on with this image below
but it's interesting (to me).

Funky Video. 

This past Spring (2017), on my way somewhere in Utah, it got dark and I pulled off into the bushes next to the two-lane highway. In the morning, as I stepped out to pull on my pants, I was taken aback when a guy out for his morning run came right through camp!

On his way back he joined me for coffee and told how the plan to move in with a woman a couple of days earlier had fallen through when she'd suddenly disappeared. In anticipation of the move, he'd given up his apartment and having nowhere else to go had moved into his Honda Element. After filing a missing persons report, he'd taken to camping and was, apparently, just around the corner  from me. (At least he was QUIET!)

A runner, he'd trained in his youth with olympic athletes. Now, at 74, he runs 2 - 8 miles a day and regularly competes in marathons...always training for the next one. Having settled in Parowan, he rides his bike to the yoga center each morning, then, three times a week, goes across the street to the gym to lift weights for two hours. He then goes for his run...enjoying the mountain trails surrounding the town.

Somehow, in that first brief encounter, he caught the jist of my enthusiasms and told of several beautiful places to camp which, over the next few days, I took advantage of. Several weeks later I was surprised when he called to see where I was. I mean, who cares?

We chatted briefly during which I expressed my gratitude for the information about camping spots; about the weather and an upcoming race he was competing in...and hung up.

But a few weeks later, I, for some reason feeling a need for reciprocal politeness, called him. It was the same, he was training for the Senior Olympics, concerned about the current politics (too conservative) and had seen some football on TV; I figured I'd done my duty. I'm into women, not guys. Three weeks later he called AGAIN!!

So after a quick run out to Santa Barbara to make sure the ocean was still there (Waves CRASHING on the beach!!! Turquoise Bikini!!), I stopped by on my way back. We visited while I did laundry and he showed me the plum trees (excellent!! And organic!!) behind the laundromat. As I was about to leave he asked if I'd been to Parowan Gap. I said I'd never heard of it and he proceeded to give me directions. It's a cleft through a mountain range, a gorgeous spot complete with petroglyphs. I found a 4wd road to the top of the hill where I made camp and enjoyed a blissful night of stars and quiet.

It's called: friend.

Painted Rock Petroglyph Site, Arizona

Westbound on interstate 8 halfway between Tuscon and Yuma....the lingering light of dusk all but gone.

Night's descent while on a freeway is a REAL medium (source) of annoyance; campsites, difficult enough to spot while navigating a two-lane become totally chimeric on four-with-median.

SUDDENLY!!! Eggbert's headlights ricocheted off a sign: Painted Rock Petroglyph Site...twelve miles. Twelve miles would, I figured, be far enough from DER FREEWAY to provide some quiet. Hah!...you  seein' flyin' pigs agin, bro?

10:00 p.m. ---  the last of the OHVs trundle in.

For those that enjoy white noise there's a hum. It waxes and wanes - think inorganic beach waves.....all night long and still strong when I left the next morn at 11:59.

Around 6:00 a.m. the whitenoise was joined by the moanings of a large piece of equipment, perhaps an earthmover. This was so invasive the grizzly herd that had gathered to enjoy the odoriferous delights of my breakfast bacon fled.

After completing my ablutions I trod the trail. The diminutive hill is heavily signed with admonishments to: STAY ON THE TRAIL!!! 

Someone had thrown a bag of hamburger buns into the NO WALK zone. I watched in unfettered awe as a privatized (it's the latest fad, dontchya know?) skyhook lowered a mountaineer who, without touching the ground, neatly plucked and dropped it into the industrial size, overflowing with McDonald's wrappers, waste bin.

Ah, the amenities of a campground! Small satisfaction comes in knowing the NSA probly got the perps throwing the buns on vid and has them doin' 10 years tuh life fellating cattle.

It's an amazing site!!

Speaking of campgrounds, they charge (money) to camp in the squalid BLM area that encompasses the site ($10.00? - I forget). Placed among widely spaced creosote bushes are picnic-tables-with-fire-ring. In the distance two, count 'em, separate installations of pit toilets grace the skyline.

There is a small area of non-billable BLM land on the left just before the campground (watch for the electrical relay station), but the rest of the surrounding property is Tohono O'Odham reservation.

But hey!! Tha's wha' happenz when yer out on the freeway at dark.

On a historic note the campground signs say the Gila River used to flow nearby. In them daiz thar wuz hundreds, maybe thousands of people and birds, beavers, deer and elk, foxes, otters (excerpted from the sign...not made up) grizzlies and goddess only knows what else roamed the land. Ah bet thar wuz probly even Pass'ng'r Pijjins an' Dodos. Well now, rest reassured you'll have my sympathy as you try to ignore the noise and reek of fertilizer. Ah, the fruits of Manifest Destiny.

Mebbe, like for me, the rock art'll save yuh from suiciding.