Menominee loves the desert. We went for walks in the desert and hikes among some big boulders. Menominee had never seen boulders that large before, but she sized one up, leaped onto it, and walked right up its steep surface. Later, she walked back down. (Of course, she does have the advantage of full-time four-wheel drive.) When Menominee walked around a boulder and pulled her leash taut underneath, somehow it got trapped there. I tugged and tugged, but couldn't free it. So I disconnected Menominee from the leash and left it under the boulder! It awaits anyone who wants to try to solve the puzzle of loosening it.
Menominee is a real connoisseur of sand — digging in it to test its consistency, rolling in it as often as the mood strikes her, and of course using it as a bathroom. ("World's biggest litter box.") Most sand doesn't make much noise, but I noticed a type of desert sand that makes a squnching sound as I stepped on it. If I listened closely, I could hear Menominee's paws making tiny squnching sounds as she walked across the sand!
During the week, when the campground was nearly empty, we enjoyed the silence of the desert. Far from any traffic, the only sounds were the occasional call of a bird, howl of a coyote, or the faint sound of an airplane so high you couldn't see it. One day we were surprised to hear the unmistakable sounds of someone playing a bagpipe far, far away.
The desert weather was delightful, with clear blue skies and friendly temperatures. At night the sky was very dark and the stars sparkled beautifully. One night, examining the sky with binoculars, I saw a curious object that looked more like a gray cloud than a star. When I checked on the web, I learned that it's a comet named Holmes.
We spent several days in a campground in Southern California's Joshua Tree National Park. The Joshua Tree is a tall, odd plant that is adapted to life in the desert. (Photos at right.)
Monday, November 26, 2007
Saturday, November 17, 2007
Cruisemaster — The Window Incident
We were driving down a San Diego freeway when suddenly WHAM! glass showered down on my head. Menominee, who had been asleep above my head, jumped for her life. A window had broken — how, we'll never know, although we didn't find a brick with a message attached. The wind whistling in continued to blow glass down on me.
We turned off at the next exit and examined the situation. The window was at the front of the RV, directly over the cab, and fortunately, it was safety glass, so the pieces were like pebbles, with no big knife-like pieces.
Our RV directory listed an RV repair shop about ten miles away, so we drove there slowly on surface streets. The owner took one look and said "Sorry, we can't help you. Tempered safety glass is impossible to get." Then he quietly recommended a plastics store a few miles away. Turned out to be a good recommendation — they were familiar with RV windows and had the skills to make a plastic window to fit. Unfortunately, it was 4pm on a Friday. Fortunately, they were open Saturday mornings.
I covered the window with a piece of cardboard and liberal amounts of duct tape, to keep insects out and Menominee in. We camped that night on a nearby street and the next morning we parked in front of the plastics store and got to work — digging the old glass out of the frame (work gloves and a screwdriver), removing old adhesive from the frame (razor blade), cutting a piece of cardboard to the exact size (carprt knife), and giving the cardboard to the guy at the plastics shop, who was very nice, offering suggestions and a cup of coffee. He cut the plastic, it fit perfectly, I glued it in with lots of silicone window caulk, and he charged me half the estimate. Whew! Happy ending! There are nice people in the world!
The new window has held up fine so far, but still awaits its first real test, when it rains. I'm pretty sure I used so much silicone caulk that it won't leak.
We turned off at the next exit and examined the situation. The window was at the front of the RV, directly over the cab, and fortunately, it was safety glass, so the pieces were like pebbles, with no big knife-like pieces.
Our RV directory listed an RV repair shop about ten miles away, so we drove there slowly on surface streets. The owner took one look and said "Sorry, we can't help you. Tempered safety glass is impossible to get." Then he quietly recommended a plastics store a few miles away. Turned out to be a good recommendation — they were familiar with RV windows and had the skills to make a plastic window to fit. Unfortunately, it was 4pm on a Friday. Fortunately, they were open Saturday mornings.
I covered the window with a piece of cardboard and liberal amounts of duct tape, to keep insects out and Menominee in. We camped that night on a nearby street and the next morning we parked in front of the plastics store and got to work — digging the old glass out of the frame (work gloves and a screwdriver), removing old adhesive from the frame (razor blade), cutting a piece of cardboard to the exact size (carprt knife), and giving the cardboard to the guy at the plastics shop, who was very nice, offering suggestions and a cup of coffee. He cut the plastic, it fit perfectly, I glued it in with lots of silicone window caulk, and he charged me half the estimate. Whew! Happy ending! There are nice people in the world!
The new window has held up fine so far, but still awaits its first real test, when it rains. I'm pretty sure I used so much silicone caulk that it won't leak.
Friday, November 9, 2007
San Diego — After the Fires
We relaxed up on the Central California coast while over a dozen wild fires burned down in Southern California. Days after the winds had died down, hundreds of fire fighters contained all the fires and we ventured back into San Diego county. The air was still a little hazy with smoke, a reminder of what had been.
We returned to the campground on the ocean we had evacuated from the previous week. Although there had been a warning that the fire upwind of here might be unstoppable until it reached the sea, it was five miles short when the ferocious winds died down and the firefighters contained it. The campground and seaside communities were spared.
Sunday morning we attended services at the UU church in Escondido, where one of the fires had destroyed many houses. The subject of the sermon was "Hope," which was the message the congregation needed that morning. It seemed nearly everyone there had been affected by the fire, one way or another — personally, or had neighbors who had been affected, or were active in relief work. One person I talked to felt fortunate that the fire had stopped half a mile from her house. Another said gravely that the fire had come with a quarter mile of hers.
The newspapers were full of stories about the fires. Were they prepared when the fires started? Yes, the Santa Ana winds had been predicted days in advance, which gave local and state government time to mobilize fire fighters and equipment. However, preparations were inadequate, as no one had foreseen the number or ferocity of fires. Only five water-bomber planes were ready to take off when the fires started, far too few to make a difference. A day later, other planes and crews, sitting on the runway ready to fly, couldn't take off because of bureaucratic red tape.
The winds fanned the flames so quickly that the fires overwhelmed all efforts to fight them, in the air and on the ground. Fire fighters were reduced to trying to save one house at a time, and then, after success or failure, moving on down the block.
And yet more people want very much to live here, and many new houses are built every year, in this area threated by persistent drought, horrendous fires and, of course, world-class earthquakes.
We returned to the campground on the ocean we had evacuated from the previous week. Although there had been a warning that the fire upwind of here might be unstoppable until it reached the sea, it was five miles short when the ferocious winds died down and the firefighters contained it. The campground and seaside communities were spared.
Sunday morning we attended services at the UU church in Escondido, where one of the fires had destroyed many houses. The subject of the sermon was "Hope," which was the message the congregation needed that morning. It seemed nearly everyone there had been affected by the fire, one way or another — personally, or had neighbors who had been affected, or were active in relief work. One person I talked to felt fortunate that the fire had stopped half a mile from her house. Another said gravely that the fire had come with a quarter mile of hers.
The newspapers were full of stories about the fires. Were they prepared when the fires started? Yes, the Santa Ana winds had been predicted days in advance, which gave local and state government time to mobilize fire fighters and equipment. However, preparations were inadequate, as no one had foreseen the number or ferocity of fires. Only five water-bomber planes were ready to take off when the fires started, far too few to make a difference. A day later, other planes and crews, sitting on the runway ready to fly, couldn't take off because of bureaucratic red tape.
The winds fanned the flames so quickly that the fires overwhelmed all efforts to fight them, in the air and on the ground. Fire fighters were reduced to trying to save one house at a time, and then, after success or failure, moving on down the block.
And yet more people want very much to live here, and many new houses are built every year, in this area threated by persistent drought, horrendous fires and, of course, world-class earthquakes.
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