Santa Rosa to Palo Duro – Day #24

(This first section was written the day of, on the road after leaving Santa Rosa State Park, NM.)

We didn’t see much of Santa Rosa Lake State Park, but that was OK because we hadn’t planned to be there anyway. Following an ice-cold shower – BRRR! – (because evidently the water doesn’t heat up if you forget to turn on that “heat” button on the kitchen wall during set-up) we pulled out at 9:10. And always remember this truism, especially when you’re in a hot desert clime:

Lesson #14: When at a dump station, if you position the camper between the sun and the faucet, you can dump in the SHADE the camper creates!

We got a bonus as we left the State Park and pulled the camper through downtown Santa Rosa. I’ve mentioned that I collect town squares, and it turns out that Santa Rosa is the county seat for Guadalupe County and as such, has a courthouse!

Just so’s we know what we’re looking at

I always like studying the architecture of old courthouses and especially seeing county name and year constructed engraved in the stonework. This courthouse doesn’t have those, but I appreciate the brick arches and circles. On this page you can read about the history and architecture of the courthouse and see a photo proving it was built in 1909.

Enjoying the Guadalupe County courthouse in Santa Rosa, New Mexico

(This next section was written the day after, at Palo Duro Canyon State Park, TX while Scott was “up top.”)

We arrived yesterday afternoon and drove to our campsite in the bottom of a canyon that looks like it was transported here straight from southern Utah!

The camper’s brakes are concerning to me. I told Scott when we were setting up in Navajo Lake State Park, NM that I heard a noise that sounded like metal scraping; that I had thought it could be the chains dragging on the pavement of the site, but the chains were still attached to the Jeep. The next day we exited that yucky place and drove on to Santa Rosa State Park, NM to break up our 500-mile planned haul yesterday from Navajo to Palo Duro. As we were pulling out of our site at Santa Rosa, I told Scott that the scraping sound was constant, that it seemed to be coming from between the two right camper wheels, that I thought it might have to do with brakes, and that it concerned me.

Scott then very intentionally drove the entire 200-ish miles here to Palo Duro so I could have several hours to write—what a kind, considerate husband!—and when we got here around 3:30, having very slowly and with much aid from our trailer brake controller eased our way down a long, curving 10% grade to the canyon floor, and were setting up for the 13th time [yes, I’ve counted them!], it occurred to me that Scott had never personally heard this scraping noise. That’s because he’s the much better driver, so he is always the one behind the wheel during camper set-ups and pull-outs. I’m always the one stationed outside the Jeep but in sight of his rearview mirror, saying, “No, the other way; a skosh to the right; you’re at the edge of the pavement; that’s good; keep coming; straighten it out; you’ve got it; three feet; two feet; one foot; four inches,” etc. So I’m the only one who actually hears the scraping noise.

Me: “Hey, this metal scraping sound is constant now, even when you’re only moving the camper a few feet and not using any brakes at all. I wish you could hear it.”

Scott: “OK. Well, we’ll need to pull it a little forward and to the left so we can back it up onto the orange risers on this side. You can move it forward a little bit and I’ll listen.”

So I put Bessie in drive—we’ve finally named our Jeep J—pulled her forward all of six feet and parked her.

Scott: “Hmm… OK, I hear it.”

Being a wise wife, I said nothing more and just let that simmer. I’m not always that wise; in fact, I usually say a lot more, but I’m trying to discern when to speak and when to remain silent, and then discipline myself when a situation calls for the latter. Like this one did.

We set up, finally had lunch at 4:20 PM under our covered picnic table, and then left at 4:40 to drive around the park in search of an ever-elusive cell signal. Ah, yes, connectivity. We’re both involved in numerous things that require it. I’ve left most of mine behind for this trip and am generally fine with just getting online once in a while when I can, but I’ve really wanted to be able to post blogs, and that requires a pretty strong connection. And between RVR, TTC, a new DM group, and on-going trip-related research, mapping, and directions, Scott needs more connectivity than I do.

Whoever’s the passenger can sometimes get online while driving, and sometimes we can find a city park somewhere that has a picnic table and cell service, but after a long, fun day of biking, exploring, picnicking, shopping, and/or driving, it’d often be nice to be able to be online in the evening at “home.” However, of the ten campsites we’ve stayed at so far, there’s only been one—at supremely sub-optimal Quail Creek State Park—where we could be online while relaxing in or seated beside our trusty Grey Wolf.

So, at 4:45, after scoping both The Trading Post (sandwiches, ice cream, minimal groceries, camping supplies, firewood, ice) a mile back up the road and the visitor center (displays, souvenirs, amazing view) three miles back up the intense 10% grade near the park entrance, and finding no wifi or cell service, Scott suggested we go back down to our site #31 in the Hackberry campground, get our computers, and take the 25-minute drive back up out of the state park to a city park in the nearby town of Canyon, a bedroom community of Amarillo, and each work for a couple hours. Which we did.

I was extremely pleased to get two blog posts uploaded, and Scott was extremely displeased to deal with a difficult RVR guest’s very messy and complicated situation. After she used foul language in expressing her displeasure with him when he attempted to accommodate her while at the same time politely adhering to some written RVR policies she had failed to observe, he later said to me, “I have another item to add to our ‘Lessons Learned’ list: Don’t be nice to people or they will start cussing you.” This really made me sad. It takes a LOT to discourage Scott and he had had it with this lady. Not a fun thing on vacation.

I believe that particular RVR situation is now in the process of being resolved, and at that point (about 8:00 PM), since we were getting quite hungry and it was too dark to see to work, we decided we would not be going back to the camper, setting up the Blackstone, and grilling our well-marinated chicken with potatoes and onions for dinner as planned. Instead, Scott suggested pizza, which was fine with me. We ordered a 14” chicken bacon ranch pizza from a local joint, LaBella’s, took it to yet another park that had picnic tables under a lighted pavilion, and enjoyed every bite. If I could get online, I’d give LaBella’s a 5-star rating.  It was really that good.  = )

Scott told me that his plan for “tomorrow,” which is now today, was to go “up top” (that is, up to the top of the canyon) early, get a cell signal, and call a bunch of places to find someone who could service the trailer brakes, hopefully remotely.

[Note: While online when we were in town, I had actually found a mobile RV service out of Amarillo that said they did brakes. I sent Scott the link, thinking that maybe that guy could come down here, which would eliminate us having to pull the camper up out of this canyon twice.]

But if no one could come here, we’d take it somewhere. And Scott said if he couldn’t find a way to get it done today (Friday), he’d arrange for us to stay here an extra day and make an appointment to have it done on Monday. We are currently scheduled to check out on Sunday and drive 600 miles home that day – yowser!

After pizza, we got gas, I posted another blog, and we went home and crashed, or tried to. I set my alarm for 4:00 AM because I needed several hours to deal with my diuretic before we might need to load up and haul the camper somewhere (depending on the results of Scott’s early morning phone calling about brake repairs), but then I had trouble falling asleep because the camper was rocking. Yes, rocking. It felt like the whooshing, swaying effect we experience when an 18-wheeler passes us on the freeway. The camper was kind of swinging back and forth and making funny noises. Scott slept through it all till I woke him up, scared. He pulled the awning in, and that seemed to help some. I guess it was just very windy. I finally took Ambien and slept.

But then my alarm never went off! When I finally woke up at 5:40, it was nowhere to be found. I eventually found the silly thing under my pillow and turned off (?!?). Go figure. And Scott, who was probably planning to get up around 6:00 to “go up early and call a bunch of places” didn’t wake up till 8:30, totally unheard of for him! He left here at 9:10 to go up top, and it’s now 11:30. Since he can’t call or text me, I am just waiting patiently, writing in the camper, and trusting that the God who balances wallets on shelves for 63 miles is giving Scott favor for whatever our camper trailer needs.

Lake to lake

September 21 – Day #23

Since we’re on vacation, and since we knew we’d just be hanging around for a day, casually taking in the sights at Navajo Lake State Park and maybe biking a bit, we didn’t bother to set any alarms last night, and we slept til 7:21! It was a leisurely way start to our day, but once we’d gotten going and had done a bit of reconnoitering, we had some decisions to make. Our assigned site was not only uphill, curved, and unlevel; it was also a full hook-up site, meaning that we had our own sewer connection. Hooray! We’ve only had that luxury a couple times so far, but this crazy site was arranged such that no matter how one’s camper was positioned, the sewer access was inaccessibly uphill from the camper’s drain. Sigh.

When we realized we couldn’t dump at our site, Scott asked what I’d think about moving the camper to a vacant site across the road. Hmm… it was level and straight, and its sewer access was NOT gravitationally challenged, but I had reservations.

Navajo Lake State Park has the same appearance and cultural feel as the landscape we drove through for so many miles yesterday. It’s pretty dreary, and its facilities are rather… well, what’s Andrew’s word for it?… seedy. Now, we don’t have to have a glorious place, but this park’s appeal was on par with that of Quail Creek (ugh). Did I really want to do All. That. Work. to hook up, move 50 feet, disconnect, and set up just so we could sit around in a discouraging place for the rest of the day? The short answer is no. The park was also on such a steep hill that it would be difficult to do much, if any, biking.

I had a thought that I didn’t know if I dared mention to Scott. We drove 400 miles yesterday to get here. Our original plan called for us to stay here again tonight and then drive 506 miles tomorrow to Palo Duro Canyon State Park in Texas. What if we just kissed Navajo State Park goodbye today and drove to some place between here and Palo Duro for tonight? After all, how hard could it be to find a campsite for one night on a week night? It wouldn’t have to be wonderful; most anything would be better than this! And breaking up those 506 miles could only be a good thing. I took a deep breath and shared my thoughts with Scott. Turns out he’d been thinking the same thing!

We packed up in 41 minutes, pulled out at 11:45 AM, and began our 315-mile trek to Santa Rosa Lake State Park, also in New Mexico. Although we couldn’t get a refund for our unused night at Navajo Lake, we were so glad to leave that we didn’t care.

Here are a couple shots of what our living area looks like when we’re packed up and driving.

We usually sit at the table; me on the left bench, Scott on the right

The couch is always full, even when we’re camped, but normally the floor is clear

And for us, this was the only redeeming feature of our stay at Navajo Lake State Park.

A rainbow is such a hopeful thing!

The land we drove through today was desolate with only a few noteworthy items of interest:

– Seeing, in one small town, multiple signs for “fly fishing, art gallery, disc golf;” an interesting business combo.

– Crossing the Continental Divide at 7,373 feet on Highway 550 at the eastern edge of the Apache reservation. We’re hoping this was Bessie’s last tough climb of the trip. Yes, we’ve finally named our Jeep. = )

– Traveling 100 miles without seeing a single green highway sign.

– Going up, over, and down lots and lots and lots of mesas.

– Driving through at least six reservations today: Navajo, Apache, Jemez, Zia, Santa Ana, Sandia.

We spent seven hours getting to Santa Rosa Lake State Park, and I think I’ve discovered a trend in state park placements. A river or stream is dammed—whether for flood control, reservoir creation, and/or power generation—this creates a lake, and then a state park is established along its shores. We have now camped beside such lakes in:

• Cedar Bluff State Park, Kansas

• Chatfield State Park, Colorado

• Otter Creek State Park, Utah

• Quail Creek State Park, Utah

• Navajo Lake State Park, New Mexico

• Santa Rosa Lake State Park, New Mexico

Once we were set up for the night, Scott drove into the town of Santa Rosa (population 2,846) to get a cell signal for his meeting with the Africa Disciple-Makers leadership team, and when I sat down at our table to blog, I found that I have somehow lost some of the notes I’ve been making in my phone to help me write these posts. That is VERY upsetting to me! But I am doing my best to keep a good attitude and keep going.

Prepositional eastward travel

from Utah, through Arizona, into New Mexico – Day #22

When My Favorite ACME Travel Agent planned this trip, he organized it into three general chunks of time: a week driving to Utah, two weeks in Utah, and a week driving home. That’s more or less how it went, but when I was reviewing the spreadsheet during our final couple of days at Snow Canyon, I was concerned about the homeward mileage we’d need to cover.

I’m not sure why it seemed so overwhelming. Google maps says home to Zion (northern route through Kansas and Colorado) had been 1,430 miles, and Zion to home would be 1,405 miles (southern route through Arizona, New Mexico, Texas, and Oklahoma). But for some reason our currently required mileages of 400, 500, and 600 per day—especially that 600-mile haul home on our final day—just seemed too much. During our time in Utah itself, our “drive” days had been in the 150 to 300 mile range. Of course, on our outbound drive, we had some higher-mileage days, but most of those were, at least till Denver, very familiar and more or less flat.

Now we were looking at some really long days, much of which would be on freeways, which we’ve grown to dread because of the big trucks, strong winds, and tension involved in pulling the camper in those conditions. I mentioned my concerns to Scott; especially that 600-mile final day. In a car, or even in an SUV, 600 miles would be 10 or 11 hours, but our recent camper-pulling history—what with bathroom stops, gas stops, and long lunch stops—means it would probably be more like 14 or 15 hours. Sweet Georgia Peaches! That means we’d need to dump in the dark (never recreational) at our final campsite in order to get an early start, so that we could hopefully get home, exhausted, at something approaching midnight, at which point we’d need to back up, unhook, and at least minimally unload. UGH!

Scott agreed that this sounded overly ambitious, and he made quick work of reserving us an intermediate campsite in Oklahoma to break that last day into two. Whew! Was I ever relieved and thankful.

But that didn’t change the 400 miles we needed to cover today, some of which would be back over the mountains. This southern route wouldn’t involve the super-high mountains we’d crossed in Colorado and Utah, but we would be traversing a 7,000-foot pass or two (read: S-L-O-W progress). So we did load up and dump in the dark. And then we missed a turn and ended up driving in a big multi-mile circle through greater St. George to finally get on the road toward Hurricane. Hurricane might sound familiar; we had stopped at a McDonald’s there for breakfast augmentation on one of our morning drives to Zion.

We were headed back to that same McDonald’s for the same purpose, but since we were pulling the camper this time we wouldn’t be driving thru. Besides, their drive-thru service had been horrid. This time we parked, and I went in to place our order. Or, I thought that’s what I’d do. I walked up to the counter, behind which numerous employees were scurrying around, and stood there. For several minutes. And none of those ladies said a single word to me or even made eye contact. But while they did nothing to acknowledge my existence, other customers periodically stepped forward and picked up their orders off the counter. Clearly they knew something I did not. I don’t like to feel stupid, and I most certainly did. I turned around and saw more customers gathered around what looked like touch screens. Oh! So you place your order back there and then pick it up at the counter. OK. I went to one of the touch screens and tried my best, but tech challenges overtook me. Sigh. Just then Scott walked in. I guess he’d gotten tired of waiting. It’d probably been ten minutes since I left him. I asked him to do the ordering, which he did, and then we waited another five minutes, which isn’t all that long compared to, say, driving 400 miles, but it is pretty darn long for service at McDonald’s. Maybe that’s why this these particular golden arches have only 2 stars.

We crossed into Arizona at 8:30 AM, and I was especially pleased because our route would take us across Glen Canyon Dam. It’s the dam on the Colorado River that forms Lake Powell, the second-largest reservoir in the United States.

As we got closer we saw signs for the lake, and eventually saw part of the lake, but like all the other lakes we’ve seen on our trip, it was low. Very low. As in, there were places where it was completely dried up and grassy! That was pretty alarming.

But the dam itself, oh my! It was truly impressive. The road we were on, Highway 89, doesn’t go across the top of the dam. It crosses the canyon just downstream from and at about the same elevation as the dam. I was driving at the time, and when I realized we were about to cross the canyon I really wanted to stop and get a look. It’s a narrow, two-lane road there, and of course you’re not allowed to stop, but at the far end of the bridge on the right, I saw some cars pulled over. I’ve never been terribly skillful at parallel parking, and I definitely can’t do it when pulling a 30-foot camper, but I have learned–the hard way–four cardinal trailer-parking rules, which, like the rules of the Medes and Persians, cannot be changed.

1. Always swing wide.

2. When possible, always opt to pull through.

3. When pulling through is not possible, simply pull up along your right-side limiter, be it another vehicle, a painted line, or, heaven forbid, a curb; but before setting your parking brake, pull forward a bit more and angle the front of your towing vehicle to the left (a 30^o to 40^o angle being optimal) so that if someone else has the audacity to back up closely in front of you, you will still be able to make an unobstructed escape.

4. When forced to park along a curb, remember that the wheels of your camper are somewhat farther apart than the wheels of your Jeep!

At the end of the bridge across Glen Canyon, I adhered to #1, couldn’t do #2, was too excited about seeing the dam to concern myself with #3, and could disregard #4 because there was no curb. I did remember to put the Jeep in park and set the brake before hopping out.

What an immense, incredible sight! We were on the downstream side of the bridge, and I saw that there were two-person-wide sidewalks along both sides of the road. For each direction, waist-high concrete dividers separated the sidewalk from the traffic lane, and a very high chain link fence topped the wall on the “river” side, so that walking on the sidewalk was kind of like being in a very long, skinny cage.

I wanted to walk across the river, and many other people had the same idea. As Scott and I made our way along the downstream sidewalk, the view of the river far below was amazing. It was hard to get a picture through the chain link fence until I realized that in certain places a couple one-foot-by-two-foot framed “windows” had been cut in the fencing for that exact purpose. I took this picture standing 700 feet above the Colorado River, on the 5th highest bridge in the United States.

Looking downstream

Looking upstream

We were only there a few minutes, but it was a big deal to me to see this dam up close and personal. If you’d like to read more about Glen Canyon Dam (its history, construction, functions, and controversies), consider this article. One fact that I found particularly amazing was that once the dam was completed, it took 17 years for Lake Powell to fill!

Back in the Jeep, my failure to observe cardinal rule #3 above nearly bit me, but mercifully the silly driver who had inserted his car directly in front of me pulled out just as I was trying to figure out how to extricate our vehicular combo. And then we were on our way again, traveling on through northern Arizona toward our next two-night destination, but we when we made a sharp left turn off of Highway 89 near Tuba City, Scott snapped this picture and said, “We’re almost home!”

Only 1,177 miles to Walnut Shade!

Sure enough, Wikipedia says of US 160, “… The western terminus of the route is at US 89 five miles (8 km) west of Tuba City, Arizona.”

On we drove, and unfortunately, much of today’s drive reinforced one of my admitted prejudices.

Twelve years ago, with our adult daughters both out on their own, Scott, Josiah, Andrew, and I took a grand vacation that we now refer to as our Wild West trip. We did a large clockwise circle through Oklahoma, Texas, New Mexico, Arizona, Colorado, Kansas, and back to Missouri. We saw dozens of hot air balloons in Albuquerque, toured the Painted Desert and Petrified Forest, put our hands and feet in four states at Four Corners, spent several amazing days at the Grand Canyon (Scott and Josiah hiked down to the bottom and back up!), sweated profusely at Great Sand Dunes National Park and Preserve, experienced the best of Royal Gorge (Scott and Andrew rode a raft on the Colorado River there!), hiked in Garden of the Gods, and again enjoyed time in Georgetown, Colorado (from which Scott and Josiah climbed a 14,000 mountain while Andrew and I took a train ride and toured a silver mine).

That had been one heck of a wonderful trip, but now, as we hauled ourselves mile after boring mile through northern Arizona, I was reminded of my previously formed extremely negative perception of Navajo culture. I don’t want to get into a political thing here, and I realize that the horrible treatment indigenous peoples in general and Native Americans in particular have endured for centuries may be one reason why they live as they do, but today’s drive through those Navajo reservations was still downright depressing. We’d often drive for literally 20 miles without any sign of human habitation, but whenever we did see a house, everything was without exception dingy, unkempt, and in poor repair. It seems like nobody cares at all about taking care of anything out here.

This recalled to me our interactions more than a decade ago with some Native American folks in the Four Corners area; they were pointedly rude and inconsiderate. Absolutely no interest in the tourists passing through, and not even any “joie de vivre,” to put it very mildly. At the time, it had both saddened and angered me.

Well, things haven’t changed so very much. Today we lunched in light rain in Kayenta, Arizona at a worn-out pavilion in a “park” that featured no grass (just a lot of dirt), a falling apart playground, and a family of locals trying to sell produce from the back of a pickup truck. Kinda depressing.

Lovely picnic location, not

Then, leaving the park, we of course needed gas, and while Scott filled the tank, I headed inside the convenience store to refill my water bottle, never realizing what a mess that would prove to be.

So far, on this whole trip, there’s been only ONE place that required masks for entry: the Canyonlands National Park visitor center. I do always have a mask in my purse (which was in the car), but I haven’t been carrying it in my pocket, so when I saw the rudely worded, handwritten sign on the door stating that masks were required for entry, I sighed and traipsed back to the car in the rain to retrieve it. Then, returning to the door masked, I stepped inside, with absolutely no inkling of the hollering to come.

As I have now done literally dozens of times in the past few weeks, I glanced around the store for the only two things in a gas station convenience store that really matter to me: the ladies’ restroom (which wasn’t readily obvious) and a soda fountain (a.k.a. drink machine) to fill my water bottle. I spied the latter and looked it over carefully but saw no little push-down tab to dispense water. So I walked over to the counter and said to one of the two ladies behind it, “Is there a place where I could fill my water bottle?”

Lady: [hollering] “NO! NO WATER BOTTLES IN STORE!”

Now, this was not a problem for me. I’ve now filled water bottles at soda fountains, outside faucets, water fountains, work sinks, and bathroom faucets. I can even do bathroom sinks where my bottle is too tall to fit under the faucet! So I figured I’d just take it into the bathroom and fill it there.

I assumed the lady thought I’d asked to buy a water bottle and was telling me they didn’t have any for sale. That didn’t faze me; I just glanced around the store again, spied the ladies’ room, turned toward it, and said politely over my shoulder to the lady, “OK. Thank you.” But as I took a step away from the counter and toward the restroom, the lady went ballistic.

Lady: [just two notches shy of screaming] “NO WATER BOTTLES IN STORE!!!”

I stopped in my tracks, puzzled, and angry at being hollered at. I’m a pretty compliant person, and I can be at least outwardly courteous to just about anyone, but this lady was raising my blood pressure. I decided to just walk away from her and say nothing, but that was clearly not an acceptable choice.

Lady: [waving arms wildly and actually screaming] “NO WATER BOTTLES IN STORE!!! NO BOTTLE IN RESTROOM!!! GO OUTSIDE!!!”

Now I was angry. And I needed to pee.

Me: [trying hard to control myself] “I need to use the restroom.”

Lady: “NO! NO BOTTLE IN RESTOOM!!”

Me: [confused] “Uh, may I leave it on the counter then?”

Lady: “NO!!!”

Me: “Where can I put it?”

Lady: [pointing at the top of a display cabinet next to the door and still shouting] “THERE!!!”

Me: “OK”

So I put my pink water bottle on top of the cabinet, went to the restroom, took care of business, and returned to the door, where my water bottle was still perched on top of the cabinet. I was somewhat surprised that the two ladies hadn’t confiscated it. I guess they thought it was full of COVID germs? Anyway, I went out the car and gave Scott a heads-up: “You really don’t want to go in there to fill your water bottle!” We drove away, my negative prejudice of Navajo culture having been—sadly—strongly confirmed.

Our destination for these next two nights was Navajo Lake State Park in far northern New Mexico, and since it looked like there’d be nowhere to eat or shop near the park, we stopped on the way at a Walmart in Farmington for groceries. As we shopped, loaded, and continued our drive, we also got to talk with Katie by phone for a little while. At last, at 5:50, we arrived at Navajo Lake and found that we’d been assigned to a site that was especially difficult to get into. For one thing, we had to back uphill into it. For another thing, the site itself was curved. And for a final thing, it was nearly three marks off level side-to-side. We had to be creative (one of Scott’s super powers), but working fast in spitting rain we managed to get it done by 7:00.

After leftovers for supper, we watched a wonderful Ken Burns documentary, The Mayo Clinic, on Scott’s computer.

Sigh. One more day here and then we’ll move on toward home. I know we can’t live on vacation forever, but it sure is fun, and I’m frankly dreading all the pressure and responsibility of being at home. It’s really nice that we can ease into it by spending a week traveling back gradually and in stages.