Tecopa Hot Springs

Tecopa, CA 

N: 35.87971 W: 116.2334 Elevation: 1333

Tecopa Hot Springs and Campground; space: NW16

 

I arrived last Tuesday evening right at dusk, in a place so far removed from the main stream populace, I thought I had arrived into a Twilight Zone episode complete with Rod Steiger narrating to me, after driving through the Mohave Desert to find the place.

Okay, so the narration was really the local AM radio station telling me all about the Mohave Desert and Death Valley while I wound my way up a slight incline (1000 feet) and then forty miles across one of the loneliest roads I have driven since my journey began.

After I arrived at the campground I was cheerfully greeted by a woman dressed in a tan and brown uniform that knew my ‘desert’ friend by name and laughed and stated that everyone knew him there in Tecopa.

She showed me his campsite which he currently was gone from, and I checked in for $15 a night, signing up for two of them in a row.  The first night my friend never did return to his campsite and I was pretty beat with my two hundred mile drive from Palm Springs to Tecopa, so I hit the sack without even soaking in the hot pools, sleeping very well.

       It was mid-morning the following day, after my first soak in the pools, that my ‘desert’ friend showed up and told me he had given up on me visiting him in the place he calls heaven.
      He showed me around the place a bit…meeting a few of the residence who lived there before we headed up to the main town of Tecopa two miles away to have a community dinner at an ‘eclectic’ man’s home in Tecopa Heights.
      Let me backtrack some here…Tecopa is in the middle of the desert surrounded by rocky mountain ranges on both the east and southwest.  The actual township of Tecopa is one block long and has a community hall, a church and a post office.  Once in town there is one road that leads up a slight hill to a residential neighborhood amongst bare desert acres which overlook the small town and the surrounding mountain ranges.
      Tecopa Heights consist of about twenty houses with a few old mobile homes and travel trailers thrown in for aesthetic appeal, the whole of the place reminding me of a movie I might have seen years ago, the surrealism of the place overwhelming me.
      I was facing backwards in my ‘desert’ friends Sprinter (the seat is stuck in the position facing the back of the vehicle) and I was unable to see where we were truly heading, but I about fell on my butt when I realized where we ended up; the yellow stucco house of my vision.
     I had to walk around the place twice, in total amazement, of how close it was to the vision I had about it.  It was not 100% correct, as this place had a second house near it, same yellow stucco integrated with rocks and stone that I never saw in the vision, but the house of the ‘eclectic’ man, his place fit the picture I had.  There is no longer a screen door (it is propped in back along with other junk) but the front door has a huge window in it, dark, like the one in my vision. 
     The exterior of the place had paint peeling off of the yellow stucco plaster that cover the wood frame of the house.  It reminded me of an old original desert farm house of the movies, complete with broken down windmill and grain storage house plus the additional second building that had obviously been converted into a really cute small house, built for one person to live in.
     My heart was racing as I wanted to see the people or person who lived there, to see if I had validity to my vision or if I was still a whack job; both still possible.
    The ‘eclectic’ man who stepped out of the dark interior of the yellow stucco house took me by surprise.  He had on a dark blue ski hat while wearing a postal blue jacket and navy blue slacks with grey wool socks inside of sneakers. 
     His eyes were covered in wrap-around sunglasses while his smile was both friendly and bright white as he quickly let my ‘desert’ friend introduce us before he wandered back into his yellow stucco abode.
     Mr. ‘eclectic’ wandered in and out of the yellow stucco house, each time wearing different versions of his original outfit but always adding something to it, like a straw sun hat over his ski hat or taking something away like the sneakers for loafers, all while opera music was being sang by a male tenor voice, softly escaping the opened front door.
     The five acre land had the tree in the front yard shading the house, like in my vision, but the yard was cluttered with the most eclectic collection of organized junk I have seen in many years.  There was even a table so full of organized items that I thought it was a garage sale table and asked the owner of the house if I could purchase a small Pyrex bowl I fell in love with, whereupon he insisted I take it for free, seeing as it wasn’t a garage sale table at all.
      Meanwhile, I wandered around looking at the house and property from all types of angles trying to determine if this really could be the place I had a vision about so long ago.  I still have no idea, but it is darn close in appearance.
     My ‘desert’ friend was cooking a lamb roast in the oven of the small rock and stucco house while his ‘Swedish’ friend helped cook the two squashes I contributed to the meal along with some sweet potatoes and broccoli.  
     I left the two of them alone in the tiny kitchen to my ‘desert’ friends’ delight, as he is ever so smitten with his lady doctor friend from Sweden that at 68 years old, he still actually blushes in her company.
    When the meal was ready to serve, the rest of the company had already arrived and introductions were made as we sat down to the very organic and tasty meal of meat and vegetables.
    I met Boris and Natasha (from the cartoon Rocky and Bullwinkle) who were from Germany (not Russia) but spoke in heavy accents and actually were shaped like the characters I named them after.  Boris was a stocky man with dark facial and head hair, who spoke rarely but ate lots; while Natasha had short black hair cut straight at her jawline who had heavily made up eyes and lips that went with her high cheek bones, heavy accent, and svelte frame.
     They were only in Tecopa for one more night before heading back to Germany where they lived nine months out of the year, the other three months were spent just up the road from the yellow stucco house.
     There was an elderly gentleman from Holland, who was soft spoken in both mannerism and speech who contributed to the dinner his aged brandy and a heartfelt moment that brought tears to my eyes.
     The ‘eclectic’ man brought in three large bottles of imported beer and the Swedish doctor retrieved glasses for everyone to share the welcomed beverage. 
     Mr. ‘eclectic’ sat next to me at the table smiling his bright smile, giving me an opportunity to finally see his eyes, which were grey like his socks.  He still wore his ski hat but had changed clothes once more, this time wearing a dark sweater and sweat pants.
     Everyone served up and the meal began, pleasant and tasteful as we ate.  That is until Mr. ‘eclectic’ ask everyone; ‘Has anyone ever been so close to death they thought they were dying?’ This brought an odd assortment of stares before slowly, people began to answer him.
    The Swedish doctor said she fell asleep behind the wheel of a car once and had no idea how she got back home while Natasha said she was in a car wreck and it felt like she could have died.
    The Holland man answered by saying he almost died in WWII from starvation and that he and his family went many days only drinking water.
    You could have heard a pin drop when he continued on about people who skip a meal and think they are hungry, he emphasized that ‘many’ days would pass between meals and how he lost family members due to starvation.
    The Swedish doctor changed the question around and asked if there had ever been a day in a person’s life when they felt like they had been reborn.
    Boris spoke up and said it was the day his daughter was born and he held her for the first time, and all the women at the table unanimously said, ‘awe’.
    Mr. Holland looked up with tears in his eyes and spoke ever so softly; “It was the day that the Swedish flew planes overhead of our homes and dropped loaves of bread to our starving tables.” He then rose and left the small house where we had gathered for our meal together. 
    It was upon his return shortly thereafter that he brought in the bottle of brandy and we all had a small shot glass full in celebrations of good friends and good times.
    My ‘desert’ friend said we had to leave immediately so I said my good-byes as we drove out of there driving the three miles back to the campground where I needed to hook up my electricity before nightfall.
    After consideration of my finances, I paid a low monthly rent for a space in the campground and paid slightly higher for electricity to run my computer and my heater, (instead of spending money driving around in circles), before I had really stopped and considered where I had placed myself for a whole month.
    The campground has a wonderful view and many trees, both palm and leaf tree specimens, plus a huge flat camping ground that is divided into four different areas, each with its own set of rest rooms and wash stations.
    The water here is not drinkable due to the strong minerals in the soil and the springs that feed the local water supply.  There are many alkaline lake beds dotting the valley between the dark mountainous western view, scattered amongst knee high brown desert grasses, which creates the illusion of snow on the tundra of the artic.
     There is a run off pond that is rectangular in shape and holds about one hundred ducks that swim back and forth most of the days that the wind stays below ten miles an hour, otherwise they hang out on the edge of the plastic coated liner and squawk about the wind.
    And yes, the wind does blow through here.  My ‘desert’ friend assures me he told me about the wind but somewhere in my foggy brain I don’t remember him saying that most days the wind pushes the ten to fifteen mile an hour mark, rarely getting to less than five miles on the calmest of evenings. 
    We have been having gusts up to 45 MPH per the weather chart posted at the campground office, and the way my van has been being jostled around, I have no doubts they are correct.
    The hot springs pools here are segregated by gender creating two sides plus there are no bathing suits or clothing allowed in either of the two pools per each side.
    You must shower before and after your soak as the water is very soft and extremely clear. One pool is hot (104 degrees) and the other is a cool pool that is the winded, colder water, filtered off of the hot pool making it only a few degrees cooler.  Each pool is twenty foot by twenty foot cement that has steel poles for handrails and exercise bars within each one.
    There is a campground office that is also a souvenir shop/grocery store which only mark up their supplies slightly higher than you can get in the city grocery stores.
    Behind the office is the Tecopa Public Library where you can sign up for half hour increments of internet service on the three days they are open; Monday, Tuesday, and Thursdays, 7:00 AM to 3:00 PM and where you can check out  books, magazines or DVD’s for up to a week at a time.
    Behind the public library is the fire station and aid car, although I have yet to see any of the volunteer firefighters wandering around while I have been out and about, I really wonder if any of them are under sixty years old, as this truly is a retirement community and I am pretty much a young whippersnapper compared to the general age populace here.
    Across the main road there is the Hurlbut-Rook Community Center where the seniors can go and get a free lunch (if they request it 24 hours in advance) as well as coffee and public services. 
    On Monday, Wednesdays, and Fridays, there is an aerobics class at 9:00 with Richard Simmons doing a cardiovascular workout for seniors via a DVD, while on Tuesdays at 6PM there is bingo for anyone who brings a wrapped food/gift item, which in turns become the prize for winning a bingo game.
    Every two weeks there is a bus for five dollars each way, which will take you to Pahrump, Nevada to do your bi-weekly shopping and to get internet and phone service. I will be on the bus this Thursday as I need a few things I forgot last Saturday when my ‘desert’ friend and I took off in his Sprinter and drove the 29 miles across the state line to get supplies.
     Every Monday and Tuesday are the tours bus days and the days when I avoid going into the pools until much later in the evening.   On these days two or three tour busses will show up between 9 and 11 in the morning full of Asian soakers, each bus holding a full capacity of 50 people.  Not all of the people soak but it is like a pond full of geese when they arrive and take up both pools and both showers. 
     My favorite time to soak has been during dinner time for everyone else.  I have been having an early meal then going to soak and to do evening water exercises that make my muscles tired enough for bed.  The hot water makes my skin warm enough to endure walking back to my van in the windy nights.
    The wildlife around my camp has been interesting as I throw out Herbette’s left over bird seed which has attracted various birds to the camp.
    Before I threw out her first batch I was visited by a road runner.  He wandered around the camp pecking at the ground before dipping over the small ravine that leads down to alkaline flats.
    There is a family of quail that come around every day around four o’clock pecking on the ground for leftovers they are sure will be there now.  They make an odd chirping noise while they eat; their little top feather bobbing around in the wind makes me laugh while I watch them.
     There have been a few ravens that fly high overhead but none seem interested in the wares of the humans in camp.  I also have two ring neck doves that are hungry for leftover seed and don’t mind coming right up to the van to beg for even more.
    Every night the valley below my shallow ravine becomes filled with the sound of hundreds of frogs croaking and creaking somewhere out amongst the wet alkaline marshlands that surround my camp.  It is very peaceful to hear them out there under the stars. 
    If it wasn’t for the gusting wind, this place would be a desert paradise like my friend insist he has found and has now help me find, all while Traveling Thru The Tonda Zone!
     ~Peace~

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

         

Round and Round I Go...

 

Round and round and round I go, where I will stop, no one, not even I, do know…

        Many adventures have happened since my last writings over a month ago.  Let me get you caught up.
        I left off with Christmas coming up around the bend, with me picking my beloved friend up at the Denver airport in the freezing cold weather that overtook the city, which I accomplished despite the frozen roads and my white knuckles, while driving sixty miles round trip.
         We arrived at the small purple house with green trim, opening the pink door to the wonderful smell of the turkey I had cooked earlier in the day, with the rest of the meal to be cooked and eaten soon after our arrival.
My friend gifted me three small writing booklets with mole skin covers while I indulged him with my fine culinary arts. We shared wine and laughter and made an early evening of my first Christmas away from Seattle. 
       The following day we went to the city of Denver and checked out the art museum that had a western/Native American theme throughout the huge venue and then a stroll through one of the oldest buildings in Denver which now holds a wonderful book store.
       Two days later our mutual friends returned to their home and the four of us learned how to live in the 400 square foot house with one huge puppy dog.  Minus the loud snoring that occurred the space was evenly used and not too crowded for the time spent together in such small confines.
      We took a trip to Golden, Colorado where we toured the Coor’s Brewery, the largest brewery in the world, and explored various parts of the small and quaint township, much like the day we also wandered into Boulder and did the river trail and farmers market.
      We climbed atop a small mountain and felt the freezing cold at its finest as most days averaged 20 to 25 before falling to10 degrees at night.  I do not think I ever warmed up the entire time I spent in Denver.
      New Year’s Eve came and three of us went to the String Cheese Incident show outside of Denver where I danced until my feet ached and my heart soared at the freedom of the movement and the music. 
      At one point though, I had to just stop, while everyone else was just dancing hard and all the people in the entire venue (20,000 people?) were dancing and moving everywhere, I just stopped.
      I stopped all movement and looked around at all of the people who were engaged in their own worlds and marveled at how connected we all were at that moment in time, yet still in our own worlds, so far apart.  It was such an awesome moment that as I stood there, it caught the attention of a couple of other dancers, who just stopped and watched with me.  I felt a true time warp in life as I became the observer out of context to my surroundings.  And it was fun.
      A few days later my beloved friend left for Seattle and I followed suit by leaving Denver but to my destination of Phoenix.  I arrived on a Saturday evening and my Sister-in-Law and her friend came and picked me up at the airport and took me back to Arizona City and a sixty degree sunny evening. (Ah, warmth!)  Once back at their place we left for a house down the block where there was a football party going on and lots of food and people greeted me upon our arrival.
       The following day I spent packing up my van and getting it as ready as possible for the following morning when I was to leave Arizona City.  When I did leave my Brother’s place, it was with him taking my picture as I left, so he could have proof I finally did get out of his house.
      I drove northeast through Apache Junction and climbed up and over the Superstition Mountains past the Top of the World and Globe, AZ to the Apache Gold Casino and RV Resort.
      I found a wonderfully warm pool and Jacuzzi, electrical, Wi-Fi, and warm bathrooms with free hot showers where I checked in for a single night.  I just should have checked in for a whole month as the next month became a circle of confusion and frustration on my journey.
      I left Apache Gold Casino for San Carlos, the town that drew me towards the Hopi Indians so many months before.  I found the small town and saw that it was a very low income Native Indian township with very little services.  I also found no ‘yellow stucco’ house so I continued on my way out of town when I saw a sign for the Coolidge Dam and thought that being I was in the area I should stop and take a look. I drove the thirteen miles in the desert before finding the old Dam that looked to be closed for the dry season and I took a couple of pictures with my phone camera before I began driving back the same way I came. 

     As I rounded a bend in the road, there it was; the yellow stucco house.
      It was the very same color but it was slightly different than the one in my vision.  This one had a different type of tree in front of the door and the screen on the door seemed wrong as it hung from the hinges.  The curtains in the front windows seemed all wrong also, but it was a yellow stucco house that was the same color yellow of my vision, something I had yet to see amongst the millions of stucco homes that are in the southwest.
      I pulled off the road and stared at the house from across a ravine, my mind asking over and over again if this was the place I had been looking for and found the disappointing answer of no.  I willed someone to come to the screen door and look out so I would know that this was the house I so desperately wanted to see, something to make this long Journey of mine, valid.
      I waited ten minutes before I gave up and drove past the no trespassing signs of the property and tried to justify turning my vehicle around, marching up to the front porch to see if there was an Elderly Native America inside looking for me.  I found none such reason other insanity, so my wheels continued turning forward and my mind began whirling, as I drove southward toward Tucson.
       Along the way I spent about an hour looking for Indian Hot Springs and was unsuccessful as I followed along dirt roads for about twenty miles before I finally gave up on that too, going into the city of Tucson where I turned onto I-10 westbound following the interstate until the sun went down and I became tired, hungry, and needing a bathroom.  I found myself exiting the same exit my Brother lived on.
      I pulled into the local restaurant and had a bowl of spaghetti with garlic bread and then found myself wandering over to the local hotel and booking a night for $35 at the Travelodge where I spent a peaceful and relaxing evening on the internet and watching television.
       The following day I took Matilda, Herbette and myself onto Interstate 8 towards San Diego where I thought I was heading, westbound towards Seattle and my old life, when suddenly I asked myself “Self, is this what you want to do?” and before I could answer out loud, I had flipped on my turn signal and pulled off onto the next exit.
      I found myself heading north on some small road that wound me back towards Phoenix and before I knew it I was on the same Highway back towards Apache Junction and the yellow stucco house before reminding myself that if I had needed to be at the place, I would have stayed the first time around, so instead of retracing those footsteps, I headed north towards Prescott where on Craig’s List there seemed to be a plethora of jobs and cheap rentals.
      I drove the miles with a lump in my throat wondering what I should really do…go back to Seattle or try and make it alone in Arizona where the sunshine called my name daily.
       I arrived in Prescott Valley early enough in the daytime to see why there were so many jobs with so many low rent vacancies throughout the area; it was nothing but a consumer’s haven five thousand feet up in the high desert.  Every imaginable store and restaurant was packed into a three or four mile area surrounded by apartment complexes and stucco homes, most of them for rent and available.
       I continued driving past all of the shopping centers as I reminded myself I could go to a million places that are packed with these types of business and I continued on past it into the old town of Prescott, where the original western saloons and cowboys roamed back in the late 1800’s realizing I did not want to live in Prescott, AZ either.
       I drove down off of the high mountain desert and down to the valley floor where I jumped back on I-10 westbound and found myself leaving Arizona and crossing over into California where the state border patrol were friendly and uninterested in the likes of me.
        I arrived in Blythe, California and found a cheap Motel 6 and checked in for the night, using the internet and the phone service to call loved ones and to catch up on emails and my Facebook page.
       The following morning I called my sister in Everett asking her about her trip to Norway she had coming up in the middle of January and to find out if I really needed to get back in time to take care of Mom or not.
       My sister blew off on me about how she would ‘allow’ me in her house to take care of Mom but I was to be ‘gone’ by the time she returned from Norway, each word filled full of venom and hate.  I confronted her anger but she informed me that it went back many years and then she refused to go into it further, but she did inform me that I did not ‘need’ to return as she had already set it up that Mom would be taken care of in my sisters absence. 
       Confused by her anger and with Mom agreeing with my sister that I did not ‘need’ to return just yet, I sat in the crappy Motel 6 room (handicap unit with very little amenities) contemplating what I should do next if I was not rushing off to Washington State to care for my Mom.
        I ended up calling my ‘Childhood’ friend who I had camped with in Idyllwild on the way to Arizona, telling her where I was and saying I wanted to catch up with her again, while I also mentioned that being I was so close to Slab City and the Salton Sea I wanted to see it first before I would be heading up to her place.
        I left that morning from Blythe and drove south into a huge windstorm that obliterated the road with blowing sand and dust to the point I had no idea where the yellow and white lines were as I continued to wind my way through a barren sandy mountainous area called the Elgodones Mountains. 

        I drove past Glamis (sand dunes) and Brawley into a place called Niland and found my way to Slab City and Salvation Mountain while fighting the 45 mile an hour winds, I did manage to grab a few pictures with my phone before having to take my contacts out of my eyes and shedding a dozen sand filled tears onto a Kleenex. 
I drove away from the winded desert to the Salton Sea where I stopped at the Sonny Bono Salton Sea Wildlife Refuge and took a far off picture of the Sea before I aimed Matilda for the safety and warmth of Yuma, AZ.

       I checked into the local Motel 6 and spent a restful night getting the sand and dirt out of my hair and my eyes while trying to decide what the hell I was going to do. 
        Here I was, back on Interstate 8 and on my way towards Arizona City once again, just like some kind of sick homing pigeon. Headed back towards a place that did not want me back and where I had no reason to go back to, except maybe to Apache Gold Casino, where I kept picturing me swimming around the wonderful pool and being able to finally settle in and write for a while.
       I spent two more nights in the wind filled valley avoiding the freezing cold weather that dropped itself down upon the southwestern states, with temperatures dropping down into the twenties at night and the local weather newscasters warning farmers of the impending cold and to cover crops and plants if possible.
      It was then that I found out that Southern California and around the area of Yuma is the ‘Winter Vegetable” capital of the United States….hmmm.  Anyways, I did spend three more nights (4 all total) in the city of Yuma waiting for warmer weather before deciding I would return to the Apache Gold Casino and hang out for a cheap month of rent and a warm swimming pool.
      I drove onto Interstate 8 heading east when I arrived in Gila Bend deciding I should stop for gas where I then discovered I had a water pump leak.  I called my roadside service that sent a tow truck to tow my Matilda exactly ¾ of a mile to a service station that ran the tow truck company. 
      The tow truck driver took Herbette and me to the local Best Western and dropped us off only to find out the hotel was full (mid-week, in Gila Bend, population 100, out of rooms???) and I needed to walk down the highway to another hotel about ½ of a mile away, where I stayed two nights at the Yucca Inn Hotel, where they had mustard colored walls and a plug in heater.
      I had to wait two days for the part for my van to arrive from Phoenix and it would go to Buckeye, AZ where I found a mechanic who could work on my VW van being none of the service station in Gila Bend worked on foreign cars.
       I left the mustard yellow walled room of the hotel with my arms full; three bags of misc. and Herbette in her cage, walking down the sidewalk of the highway to the tow truck place, a mile and a half away when a woman in a white pick- up truck pulled over and offered me a ride which I gratefully took.  I cannot thank the Great Elders enough for sending the Native American woman named Jacqueline, when I so very much needed a ride.
      My roadside service (GMAC) would not use the same tow truck company to move my van the 32 miles from Gila Bend to Buckeye so they instead sent me a wonderful driver in a pink tow truck (Pinky Tow) to take me and my traveling group (Matilda, Herbette, and my worldly possessions) to the larger township of Buckeye, AZ.
     The repair shop was owned by a Hispanic man named Javier who had his American mechanic work on my German engine with its China made water pump part that turned out to be the wrong part. 
     This forced me to once again walk a few blocks away from the auto shop and find another hotel to stay in.  The owner of the hotel (another East Indian couple, like the one in Gila Bend) had to ask his wife if I could bring Herbette into the room with me as they did not accept any pets on the property.
     After being granted the ability to take Herbette into a room, I was sure that the rust-colored stucco motel would offer me a similar room as I had found at the Yucca Inn in Gila Bend, but I was completely surprised by the wonderful space I was charged another $60 a night for. 
     The room reminded me of the Hampton Inn Suites I stayed in Lake Havasu City, the bed made up in soft, cotton linens while the huge television only highlighted the refrigerator and microwave and the plush towels in the bathroom.  I was pleased that somewhere in my moments of being broke down, some things were turning out somewhat pleasant.
      I wandered out of my room to go across the street for some Mexican food and the owner of the hotel was standing outside of the office having a cigarette when I asked him about the food at the restaurant, upon which he replied he had never eaten there.
      I spent the next half an hour talking with the owner of the motel, learning about his life and his world he found so pleasant and peaceful.  “Small towns…that is where there is heart and community.  It is what makes a man feel proud in the daytime, safe in the nighttime.”
      As I ate the mediocre Mexican food I thought about what he had said about small towns and had to agree with him…some of my fondest memories are of living in Anacortes and how safe and proud I was to live there and put that into my future plans manifestations; I want to settle into a small town.

      The following day proved me patient as I had to wait another six hours (three hours the first day until the part was discovered to be not the right year model) while the mechanic finished off the water pump install.  I paid Javier three one hundred dollar bills, he gave me three one dollar bills back and I drove away, hoping that the mechanic had done a good job, as VW can be a tricky motor to work on sometimes, even with something as simple as a water pump. (picture is of statue across from repair shop titled, "Hobo Sam")
      Pulling out of the repair shop and getting on a main highway into the town of Buckeye, I found that I was butted up against Interstate 10 again…yes, back to ground one.  How many times had I been on that Interstate in the last week and a half?
       I pulled out onto the freeway westbound and drove into the sunset of the Arizona border where I took a picture right before Quartzsite and dipped down into California and back to Blythe where I checked into a different hotel (didn’t like the Motel 6 in Blythe last time and they upped the price $30 since I was in town a week and a half earlier) and settled into the room for a night of decision making.
       While I had been broken down with my van, my ‘childhood’ friend left for Seattle with her husband and would be gone for two weeks, leaving me hanging out in the desert wondering what I should do.  It was little over two weeks since leaving my Brother’s place and all I had done was drive a thousand useless miles and was back in a circle at Blythe, California. 
      Taking a friends advice about when life keeps making you repeat your steps, is to look around at what I am missing the first time, I tried to figure out what I was missing.  What could Blythe possibly hold for me?
      I picked up the phone and called my Denver friend to get the phone number of his dad, who travels around California on a low budget, mostly hanging out at hot springs.
     After being asked my intentions for his dad, my Denver friend gave me the number and I called it expecting a voice mail I would give my name and phone number to, but stammered when he answered the phone put me at a loss for real words.
     “Hi.  You may not remember me, but I traveled with your Son a couple of years back and we met up with you in the Redwoods.” I hesitantly began.
      “Are you the woman with the tan VW?” He responded.
      Our conversation lasted about fifteen minutes and it was decided that I was really not all that far from him (less than 100 miles) and sure he said, come on over and hang out, which is what I did.
        Back onto I-10 westbound I took Highway 86 out of Indio and drove south towards the west side of the Salton Sea and turned off onto Borrego Springs road, driving another 22 miles where I found my ‘desert’ friend and another couple from Oroville who were camping with him. I pulled up next to the two other rigs, where we made a triangle of vehicles parked in the desert of the Anza-Borrego State Park where all the camping is free.  Yes, free.
        My new friends were old desert campers who had been doing this for many years, traveling around with the weather and staying as close to the 70 degree mark as possible.  Most of the places they camp at are free and somewhat close to small towns where water and supplies could be replenished, with showers and laundries are never more than 10 miles away.
       I arrived on Thursday afternoon and on that Saturday I celebrated my 51st birthday with a shower, clean clothes, homemade split pea soup and a margarita, parked out underneath the huge desert sky with wonderfully hearted people and lots of laughter.

          My ‘desert’ friend was going to be going to El Godones, Mexico outside of Yuma to get his teeth fixed and a new pair of glasses, and he offered me the opportunity to travel along with him, which I did.

     We left on a Monday and drove through the desert to a place called Agua Caliente where we paid three dollars to soak in an enclosed hot spring run by the county of San Diego.  After a three hour soak we drove a couple of miles away and camped in the desert, again for free.
        The following day we drove south to a place called Holtville where he took me another hot springs, this one free, where we soaked for about an hour in the very hot pool before we got back in our vehicles and drove to the exit for El Godones.
       The day was still young and we parked our cars on the American side of the border in a pay lot ($5) and walked over the line into Mexico where instantly I was taken aback by all that my eyes could see.
       El Godones is a small town approximately ten blocks by ten blocks that is nothing but dentist, optometrists, and pharmacies, mixed into the vendor wares that the Native citizens sell to the thousands of senior citizens of the United States who cross the border for reasonably priced medical needs.
       There are hundreds of shops offering eye glasses for cheap, dentures and extractions for even cheaper, and all of the medications that cost so much in the United States are pennies on the dollar in the shops of El Godones. 
       My ‘desert’ friend had his eyes examined and his dental work started while I wandered around watching the goings on in the small Mexican community that caters to the elderly white Americans that come there to save hundreds on medical, the locals hoping to catch some of their wealth in the wares that they offer. 
       Leather purses, wallets, belts, and clothing along with baskets, jewelry of silver and gold, pottery, rugs, and artwork, all for sale for cheap or near cheap.  Food venders selling dollar tacos and caramel covered pecans and walnuts, while children carry cases of bracelets and hair ornaments trying to get you to buy, buy, buy.
        I spent five dollars on a bracelet that young man made out of thread that spells my name in it, along with a bag of the caramel pecans.  I purchased a margarita at a bar, that I later learned by observation, it was a place that hookers take the Americans upstairs for a ‘private’ drink.
       My ‘desert’ friend found me in the main square and we went and had lamb and goat tacos before we wandered back across the border to the United States and our vehicles, which we drove a couple of miles down the road and again, camped for free.
       I need to insert here that I spent lots of money, time and effort to get my passport so that my adventures might include going to foreign countries and hopefully getting lots of colorful stamps in my hard to get book.  Having said that, as we crossed over the Mexican border, there are no border patrols stopping and checking you as you enter the country and there is no way to get your passport stamped.  On the way back to the United States, they can’t stamp your book, as you are already a citizen and you live in the U.S. and you don’t need a stamp.  So, to date, I still have no marks in my lonely passport book.
       My ‘desert’ friend needed to return the next day for teeth extractions and a partial dental plate put in (all for under $500) but I decided to stay at the free camping space and organize my van for long term travel.  Spending many hours alone and organizing felt good and was something that needed doing, as traveling in such a small space means that everything is more like a ‘Tetris’ game as most things must be moved to access other things.
      It was mid-day when my ‘desert’ friend returned and we drove back to the Holtville hot springs where we soaked for about an hour before he took us a couple of miles into the desert where there is more free camping.  We passed a sign on the way down a long desert road that followed a huge canal of water that said we could camp for up to 14 days for free, per the county of San Diego.
        We stayed three days and two nights while rain covered the desert in huge sandy puddles that made getting to the hot springs a big chore, but well worth it as the hot springs took the chill out of the wet, cloudy days.
       On the morning of the third day after soaking up the hot, hot springs, we drove to El Central and did major grocery shopping at the Wal-Mart and Costco before heading northwest to Agua Caliente once again.
      We stayed overnight at the free desert parking area and paid to soak on our arrival and on our departure the following morning, before we headed back to Borrego Springs and the free camping with his friends from Oroville. 
      During the next week, the people from Oroville (an older couple) who had a Jeep 4X4 took me and my ‘desert’ friend out amongst the ‘Badlands of California’ and gave me the full tour of a place they consider to be one of the most beautiful on the planet, which considering they have lived in many places in the world, they could say that with experience.

     We climbed up over giant hills and down into low canyons, we rode past huge metal animals depicting the pre-historic creatures of the area, while I learned about the flora and the fauna of the desert and all of the creatures that call it home.  They were basically the most wonderful tour guides I could possibly have had as they shared their love, knowledge, and experience of the many years of traveling in the area.

          I was so enjoying myself out in the desert, the warm sun, good people, and lots of laughter, but as all things do end, so did our time together. 

      The Oroville couple were heading back to their home as one of them was experiencing much pain in her hip and was unable to continue on their journey, while my ‘desert’ friend said he too was heading back towards his favorite place, Tecopa hot springs, now that he had finished his medical trip to Mexico, the main reason I had been able to catch up with him outside of Borrego Springs.

          I called my ‘childhood’ friend and found out she was back in the state of California and would love a visit from me, so I said my good byes to my new found friends and drove 55 miles from Borrego Springs to Aguanga to the property with the three ponds and the Native American fertility grounds were. As we caught up on the last five months it was then it was decided that the following weekend I would be joining her husband and all of their friends in Glamis to go sand dunning over the Presidential weekend.  We shopped and packed her newest motor home (a semi-truck with complete motorhome and a toy hauler behind) and I followed behind them as we drove 130 miles south, past Brawley and onward to Glamis, a mere 22 miles north of Holtville, to go camping for a week in the sand dunes.  Yes, back in circles again. 

     We spent the first part of the week getting our large camp established that eventually would hold eleven huge RV’s (none under $30K most of them in the $60K-$100K) and as many toy haulers (generally about $5 to 10K each) along with my little tan van (approx. $3K), the smallest of all the rigs.  Everyone had at least one dune buggy (average cost: $100,000 each) and some had one or two additional quad’s ($3-20K each) and all I could wish for was all the moneys that was sitting at Keyhole campground.  Of course, to be really financially rich, I would love to have had ALL the money of the rigs and toys over the entire area that they call Glamis. 

        Thousands of rigs and toys filled the high sand dune area over the Presidential weekend, the roadways and campgrounds packed to capacity as the ‘dunners’ came out to play.  As I left on Sunday morning, before the crowds broke up and traffic would become impossible on Monday, Presidents day, there were too many rigs to count, too many dune buggy’s and quad’s and motorcycles to even begin to fathom how many were really there, but I still wished I could have the money sitting around me.
     I drove south the twenty-two miles to Holtville and did a big long soak before aiming myself north towards Palm Springs where I currently sit trying to get everyone, including myself, caught up on all the wild circles I have been traveling since I left Arizona City on January 7^th.
      Parts of this journey feel like these circles or wheels I am going over and over again might be the medicine wheels of life, trying to shift into the proper socket, before grabbing hold and creating a bridge that I can somehow cross over from one to the other of the one I need to be on.  But which wheel that is I still have no idea.
     To say that it has been a ‘long strange trip’ is an understatement.  The things I am learning are priceless (or very reasonably priced) and the people I am meeting are unique and interesting as I continue to Travel Thru The Tonda Zone!

          ~Peace~