Face transplant news prompts thoughts

There was big news today, and I hope you did not miss it. A woman in Cleveland was given a face transplant. Apparently, she was horribly disfigured, and so this will surely be a wonderful thing for her. The face she got was from a woman who had died. This is the fourth face transplant in history.

At first I thought it would be very strange for the family of the dead woman -- to see that same face on another person. Oh, that would be eerie, don't you think?

But I suppose the face will look different because of the differing shape and bone structure of its new host.

Still, the thought about getting a new face prompts some thoughts, at least it did for me.

Have you seen the new movie "Australia" starring hunky, studly guy Hugh Jackman (sexiest man of the year according to People Magazine)? He looks like he came right off the cover of a romance novel, with bulging muscles and the kind of face that I believe would drive most women wild.

I have decided that if he should die (I'm not wishing it, mind you), I would like to have his face. I could workout a bit more in the gym to build up my muscles. It would be very interesting to be that good looking. I have always wondered what it would be like.

Anyway, if you know me know now and one day meet me and I look very, very different, then you will know why.

Washington state is coffee crazy

When most people think of Washington they think of Seattle or they think of tall mountains, or ferns or slimy banana slugs. And they think of coffee. Washington is the birthplace of Starbucks. Even in eastern Washington, which is mostly wide open space (as you can see in this photo), people love their coffee. Along U.S. 395, this billboard advertises the next caffeine opportunity. From the looks of this picture, it's hard to imagine there's anything ahead but sagebrush.

Happy Travel Trailer

This is a very happy trailer. I photographed it in Chloride, Arizona, which is pretty much a ghost town these days.

Two headed things along the road

I came across this two headed cow (calf) in a museum in Colorado. That was quite a few years ago, so I don't know if it is still there. I suppose there are many other two headed creatures out there in museum-land. I saw a two-headed rattlesnake in a museum near the entrance to Carlsbad Caverns National Park. It was okay, but not nearly as impressive as the two headed calf.

And while on the subject of odd things, in a little town in Arizona -- can't remember the name now -- I had the good fortune to see the world's largest hairball (from a cat). It was huge and very impressive. I think it must have been coughed up by a very big cat. I think it would have choked a little cat.

A good reason to travel the back roads with your RV

Do you prefer to travel the back roads with your RV instead of the highways? I drive the "blue highways" as often as possible, where I can see the roadside up close rather than from a distance. Here is a short video essay I did about one of my favorite things to watch for as I travel the two-lane highways of North America.

A very unusual big tree with a bear inside

I found this photo on a greeting card at an old-fashioned hardware store in rural Washington. On the front it says, "Two natives of Washington, a bear den and dwelling in a Washington Saw Log." You can see the bear inside its den on the left side of the photo. After a bit of research, I learned that the photo was once on a postcard, with the following description on the back: "This log was cut four miles from Aberdene from a spruce log 40 feet from the Butt which was 13 feet in diameter at one end and eight feet at the other. It is 40 feet long, 9 feet in diameter at one end of eight feet at the other, cut to show at the St. Louis Fair, and is now in Belle Isle Park at Detroit, Mich. There are chairs, settee and table cut inside of the log. When in St. Louis it housed two bears and a large cougar."

Do you know anything about this saw log? Maybe if you are old enough you once saw it. It's not at Belle Isle Park in Detroit anymore. If it is still around I would like to know so I can visit it someday. It reminds me of the One-Log House in the California Redwoods. That one is a little smaller, cost a dollar to go inside, and never housed any bears.

Barbie -- the perfect woman of my youth!

Oh, man! Check out this Barbie TV commercial from 1959. Here she is, the perfect woman -- the image of femininity young girls of my generation aspired to be when they grew up. Ken, Barbie's guy, didn't come along until later. I never wanted to be Ken. He was way too stiff, too plastic. . . boring! Really, really boring! My sister owned a Barbie or two. I remember seeing her naked -- the doll, not my sister. She was only partially realistic, and not interesting to a young guy just producing his first testosterone. Fast forward a few decades. My daughter entered prime Barbie age and passed right through without paying any attention to the most popular doll in the history of mankind. What a relief!

Anyway, check out this commercial with its swell music.

Peaceful pond in busy city

I discovered this pond the other day while on a shopping mission. It's in Lynnwood, Wash., about five miles from my home in Edmonds. From the photo you would think it's in the middle of nowhere. But, actually, Scriber Lake Park is surrounded by a busy city. It looks peaceful here because there's no sound. But it was noisy with cars passing by only a few dozen yards from where I snapped this photo. The ducks were upset that I didn't bring them any snacks. After checking me out they paddled away.

An amazing turkey I once met

Here is an essay I wrote many years ago. I offer it again as this year's Thanksgiving holiday approaches.

His name was Tom and he lived in Douglas, Wyoming. His owner was a man named Jim Herrick, who makes and sells jackalopes. Jim's uncle, in fact, invented the jackalope in taxidermy. I ran into Jim one day while RVing through Douglas. He said he'd show me his jackalopes. So I went to his workshop, where there was a wall-full of jackalopes. It was an impressive sight.

Jackalopes, in case you do not know, are half jackrabbit and half antelope. They have antlers. Jackalopes are nocturnal, which is why you seldom see one in the wild. They generally show up only outside rural taverns late a night. They mate only during lightning storms. Males and females sing duets. People who have heard them say they sound like Roy Rogers and Dale Evans.

Afterwards, out front, I met Tom. He was a big turkey — not handsome, nothing special to look at. But he seemed friendly. Jim told me he had a special talent. I asked what. "He belches," Jim said. I didn't believe him. But Jim showed me. He grabbed Tom, wrapped his arms around the bird's chest, squeezed, and -- wowie! Tom let lose with a belch the size of all Wyoming! Jim told me more about Tom. Not only did he belch, but he wanted to better himself. "Everyday he walks to the bus stop with the kids when they go to school," Jim said. "But everyday, the driver leaves him behind."

A FEW WEEKS LATER I returned home from my trip. And I wrote an article about Tom. I wrote about his impressive baritone belch and his desire to get an education. It was just a little story. That's what I thought.

In mid-November, my phone rang. It was the Tonight Show. "We want Tom on the show," a producer said. "We want him to burp on Thanksgiving." She asked if I could help them find the fowl. I said sure.

I called Jim. I asked about Tom. "He's not here," Jim said. "He's dead." I was stunned. "He got hit by a car on the way back from the bus stop. Somebody ran over him on purpose."

It was a sad day. I told the Tonight Show that Tom was unavailable to belch due to death.

And that was that.

No more sleep for me

If I live to be 80, I will have spent 26 years in bed. Frankly, I've got better things to do. Like drinking coffee (legally required in Seattle, where I live), writing, driving my motorhome or dining at a roadside cafe where the waitresses chew gum and call you "Hon."

Thinking about the time I waste sleeping bothers me. It's not just the sleeping itself. Before you sleep, you have to get ready, which means brushing your teeth, taking a few pills to keep yourself alive, and changing into your pajamas. Getting up is worse. You look terrible with your hair all messed up, and there's stuff in the corners of your eyes, and you have morning breath. So you have to waste precious time preparing yourself to look as good as you did before you went to bed the night before. So why not just stay up?

Some scientists say we sleep because when we were cavemen it was tough finding food. So we holed up in caves at night to conserve energy — so we could get by on less. I guess if you're in a dark cave, there's nothing better to do than sleep. There was no TV or Internet back then, so sleep was logical.

But now we have plenty of food. Just look around. Half the guys in America over 40 have bellies that sag over their belts.

And frankly, I've been thinking about what it's like to be asleep. You crawl into bed, close your eyes, and for the next eight hours trust God that Charlie Manson won't show up.

So I'd like to announce that I will not sleep anymore. I have plenty of food to eat, so I don't need to conserve energy. And, frankly, I'm totally bored with getting out of bed, doing a couple of chores, squeezing in a few meals, then getting back into bed, then doing the same thing over and over again. I've already slept for at least 18 years. Enough is enough. Now that I have decided not to sleep anymore, I plan to use my extra time learning how to tune up engines and seal RV roof leaks.

On the road: dead cars here, dead cars everywhere

What do you do when you buy a new car? For one thing, you trade in your old one. But have you ever wondered where your old car ends up? Used cars don’t last forever. One day, your old car will die. If it dies in the city, it will be hauled to a junk yard. But if it dies in the country, it will be hauled nowhere; it will remain where it dies -- along the road, in back of a store, or in a front yard.

Travel the back roads as I do, and in a year's time you will see 20 dead deer, 50 dead jack rabbits, 3 dead coyotes, 22 dead snakes, 35 dead squirrels, 17 dead skunks, and 5,000 dead cars. I believe that in 50 years people will consider our present day automobiles primitive. If you really think about it, they are already primitive. But they’re the best thing we currently have for personal transportation.

Cars break down a lot because there are so many moving parts. Auto makers have improved the performance of cars through the years, but in doing so they have made them so complicated that a backyard mechanic can no longer do his own repair work.

My first car, a 1958 Volkswagen, was a bit more powerful than a go-kart, but I could do a lot of the mechanical work myself. Now, with all sorts of sophisticated electronic gizmos, you need a Ph.D. in mechanical engineering to figure out what to do when something goes wrong. Someday they’ll look back at our slow, gas-eating, polluting vehicles and laugh -- sort of like the way we think of Stanley Steamers today.

Why you cannot please everyone

You cannot please everyone. You can please many people, but you cannot please everybody, except maybe every once in awhile. Sometimes you can be very kind, but people will get mad at you. You may ask "How can that be?" Here is an example:

Think about the last time you were in your car in a crowded parking lot. Perhaps it was at a sporting event or movie. Usually, everybody will leave all at once. That creates a traffic jam when drivers need to squeeze out of two or maybe three exits.

Some drivers will butt in while others will wait to be let into an exit lane. But, all in all, it's basically a free-for-all.

Now here is where you can be a good person and a bad person at the same time. The driver you let in line in front of you will think you are very kind. He or she might even smile or wave a hand to thank you. Maybe you are feeling especially generous and let in another car. Now you are extra nice, right?

No. Because the drivers in the cars behind you will think you are a creep for letting cars in ahead of them. Now, they just have to wait longer to get home, which does not make them happy. Waiting in a parking lot is not fun. It's boring. And those people behind you will not be happy at all when you just make them wait longer.

This is just one instance when you cannot please everyone, even if you think you are being kind.

Warm things are nice

Not to long ago I was camped in Mesquite Springs Campground in Death Valley. It was winter, and the temperature dropped to about 20 degrees that night. Before retiring to bed, I took a walk to get some fresh air. Burr! I was so cold! But then I returned to my little motorhome where it was warm. It was such a good feeling to be in such a cozy space when all around me for miles it was freezing cold.

Heat is a very good thing -- a wonderful thing sometimes. Here are some great heat-related experiences:

--Putting on warm socks right out of the dryer on a cold morning.
--Taking a hot bath or shower after being the cold all day.
--Lounging in a warm lounge at a ski resort after a morning of skiing.
--Sitting in front of a campfire on a chilly evening.
--Eating hot, homemade soup on a cold winter afternoon.
--Climbing into a bed heated by an electric blanket.
--Snuggling up with your sweetheart in bed on a cold night.
--Stopping at a cafe for a cup of hot coffee or hot chocolate.

I am sure there are many other good, warm things. Maybe you can leave a comment with a few of your favorites.

Dead guys not really dead in this cigar store

Here is a little story you may like. It's true.

In the fall of 1891, the town site of Everett, Wash., bustled with new growth and industry. The town's first undertaker, John T. Rogers, constructed a small building next door to new hotel and saloon. Stylish coffins lay in his back room. Until his business could take hold, Rogers sold newspapers, magazines and tobacco in the front of the building.

Late one night, Rogers was awakened by a customer in dire need of tobacco. Moments after Rogers let him into the store, the man spied five men in caskets. He ran from the store in fear, yelling to everyone in the saloon next door about dead men in the cigar store. When the noisy bar crowd clamored inside, instead of finding corpses, they found sleeping men who Rogers later referred to as his "lodgers." As an entrepreneur, he took advantage of the shortage of hotel beds in the booming town by offering his unused coffins as beds. His guests appreciated the shelter during the cold and wet Pacific Northwest winter.

Greedy gas pump

I have been sorting through my old photos, tossing ones that are just junking my house. Frankly, most of them were junk. But I got a good laugh out of this photo, which I snapped years ago during a previous gas crisis. The retired pump was along a back road in a small California town near Sacramento. I can't even remember the name of the place. Anyway, this was someone's idea of "protest art."

The urge to come and go with my RV

I don't know if I could ever be a full-time RVer. I like living a normal life where my house does not move. I also like living a life where my house (motorhome) DOES move. When I am home for more than a month, I start daydreaming of going away. Most of the time I dream of going away by motorhome. Day by day, the urge to go grows stronger until I must leave. Sometimes I just go camping close by for a couple of days. But this is like putting a Band Aid on a bad cut: it takes care of the immediately problem but is not a suitable long term solution.

WHEN I FINALLY do get away on an RV trip, I am happy as can be. . . for a couple of weeks, a month . . . somewhere in that range. Then gradually my thoughts start turning to home -- about my family and friends, my big and comfy Queen size bed that does not require a ladder to reach, my spacious (relatively speaking) house, and my computer with a screen twice as large as my laptop's. After about a week of thinking like this, the urge to return home becomes too strong to resist. So, wherever I am, I turn back toward familiar turf. To be honest, I usually race back like I am in a hurry, which is a big joke because I seldom am. After a few decades of behaving like this, I still do it.

A month after I arrive home, I want to go again. I guess I have a split personality.

What have you found along the road?

Here is a question for you. What is the best thing you have ever found along a road? I mean something you found that you couldn't return because there was no evidence of the owner. I have probably driven about 200,000 miles in my motorhomes. In all that time I have found a screw driver, a wrench, a ball of rope, and even a $10 bill. I've found some junky stuff, too, but I didn't keep it. I have probably found some other valuable things, but for the life of me, in my advancing age I cannot remember what they were. But I don't think I ever found anything better than what I mentioned above.

What about you? Have you ever found something really great? If you have, please leave a comment and let me know what you found.

Searching for a baseball bat for my RV

I was searching through a sporting goods store the other day for a baseball bat, not to play with but to use to smack against my RV tires to make sure they aren't flat. But do you know what I learned? I learned that it is hard to find a wooden bat. At least nine out of ten these days are made of aluminum. The wooden bat, it seems, is going the way of the wooden golf club and the wooden tennis racket. This is good for the aluminum industry and bad for the wood industry. It is proof, once again, that one's person's loss is another person's gain.

Truck with with funny (but true!) message

I followed this truck for a few miles on I-5 in Northern California. I liked the passing instructions printed on the back. Just in case you can't see the photo clear enough to read those instructions, here is what they say. The message on the green sign, which directs you to pass on the left, says "Passing Zone." The other sign, in red, points to the right and says "Suicide Zone." It's nice to see a truck with a sense of humor.

Mystery of slot machine woman never solved

I bet that you have never seen a slot machine like this one I photographed about 20 years ago in a casino in Virginia City, Nevada. When I visited the casino a few years ago, the machine was gone.

For awhile after taking the photo, I tried to learn where the machine was made. I wanted to meet the woman who modeled for it, or learn if such a woman ever even existed. If the slot machine was made in, say, the late '40s, then the woman was probably born somewhere around 1920. That would have made her about 68 back then, or 88 today.

Alas, I never found her. My guess is that the machine was the likeness of a real woman. I wonder who she was? And where is this machine now? Maybe one of her grandchildren bought it. Boy, that would be strange -- having an image of your grandma as a beautiful young woman on a slot machine in your living room.

If you own this slot machine and want to sell it, please let me know.

New RV has slideout balcony: just what the world needs!

I nominate the new Veranda by Country Coach with its very own slideout balcony as the stupidest RV to come around in a long time.

The Veranda's balcony can hold 3,000 pounds, so about a dozen people can occupy it at once, which would be like like standing at a busy street corner in Tokyo. The deck adds extra weight to the rig, which is good news for Exxon and Shell. But the best thing about this new and "exciting" RV is that its owners never need to step on actual grass or dirt to get some fresh air -- a great savings in shoe leather (or rubber). In this picture, Dad is tossing a football to little Linda and Billy. Dad doesn't even need to get out of his rig to do it. How 'bout that?

Manufacturers of big coaches are having tough times right now because what people really want are smaller, more fuel-efficient rigs. So Country Coach, which laid off 100 workers earlier this month because its product sales are tanking like its competitors, has answered with this.

The future of RVing is in Scotland

I have seen the future in Scotland -- the future of RVing.

I've been in Scotland now for three weeks, exploring the countryside -- the big towns and the little villages (lots of them). Everywhere I go, the roads are packed with motorhomes and travel trailers. In the United Kingdom, travel trailers are called caravans. Those who travel with caravans or motorhomes (sometimes called campervans or motorcaravans) are called caravaners.

RV parks are everywhere and are called caravan parks. Most are non-descript grass-covered fields with designated campsites (called "pitches"). The cost to stay is about the same as in the U.S. -- $25 to $35 a night in our dollars. Most offer hookup and non-hookup sites. Holing up in a freebie place is called "wild camping" -- the U.K. word for "boondocking."

The cost of unleaded gasoline here is roughly about 4.5 British pounds -- which translates to about $9 or $10 a gallon in U.S. dollars. Ouch! But the steep price isn't stopping the "caravaners." In Oban the other day, on the West Coast, a parade of motorcaravans (small motorhomes) passed through town one after another, morning through evening. I was stunned at the numbers.

MOST CARAVANS (trailers) are in the 15- to 20-foot range. Motorhomes seldom exceed 24 feet with most 18 to 22 feet. They look a lot like the fuel-efficient U.S. motorhomes built on the new and very popular Dodge Sprinter chassis. Only rarely do you see a motorhome here with dual wheels in the rear: 95 percent have only four. Of the thousand or so RVs I have seen, only three were recognizable American brands. The big diesel bus-type motor coaches favored by full-timers in the USA are absent. They would be a tough fit on the mostly narrow, two-lane roads of this country.

Trailers are pulled by four- and six-cylinder cars and vans. If you listen closely when a motorhome passes you will hear the tick-tick-tick of a small, fuel-efficient engine. There are no fifth wheel trailers in Scotland, and only a few truck campers. You very seldom even see a pickup truck. RVs don't have slide-outs. Instead, many, many RVers pack along a tent patio which attaches to a caravan outside its entry door.

Europeans have paid a lot for petrol for a long time unlike we North Americans who are still in shock over seeing the cost of our own fuel more than double in the last couple of years. The Scottish newspapers report that caravaning is more popular than ever despite rising fuel prices. In fact, with so many RVs on the road, a new term has been coined -- "caravanger," as in "caravan anger." The term applies to the feeling of drivers stuck behind a slow caravan on a two-lane road.

IN AMERICA, with our wide roads, larger RVs are much easier to maneuver. And until recently, how much fuel they burned wasn't much of a factor in the cost of RV travel. But suddenly, the high cost of fuel has become an issue with Americans and Canadians to the point where many are traveling less or even selling their rigs.



A caravan with a tent-type patio. This is a common scene in caravan parks.

Here in Scotland, I see the future -- where RVing is as popular as it ever was in the USA or Canada, but with most RVers traveling with smaller, more fuel-efficient rigs. What I have seen leads me to believe that while RVing in America is going through a tough time, as the months and years pass and more RVers opt for smaller, more fuel-efficient rigs, the pace of RV travel will return to where it was when our fuel was cheap.

And a final note: if you are looking for a beautiful country to visit, put Scotland on your itinerary. A great way to get around is to rent a motorhome.

Cheers!

Cell phone ring or ice cream truck passing by?

An ice cream truck just passed through the campground. As it passed, the ice cream man eyed my campsite, probably looking for a kid. When I first heard his truck's jingle I reached for my cell phone to answer it. I do that all the time when I hear jingles, whether on the radio, on a CD, or from another person's cell phone. This wasn't the first time I tried to answer an ice cream truck. Too many things ring nowadays. We are a society of ringing things.

I don't know how that ice cream man sleeps. That jingle must go through his head over and over long after he parks his truck, even at night in bed. You can't just put a pillow over your head and make a tune go away! Maybe he changes the jingle throughout the day to help keep a single song from getting stuck in his head -- that would make sense. If you are an ice cream man (or woman), please email me and tell me if you change your tune.

A lot of people are forced to listen to the same thing over and over. At my local grocery store, many customers use the self-checkout. A voice tells you what to do. After you scan an item, a female voice says "Please put the item in the bag." I have always wondered if it's a real or a computer voice. If it's real, then I would like to meet the voice to put a face to it. Not much chance of that, I don't think.

A lone grocery checker monitors all eight self checkout stations. "Please put the item in the bag," repeats over and over, all day, probably a thousand times in one checker's shift.

When the checker goes home, he or she probably just crashes in a comfy chair to zone-out after a day of standing up and being nice to people. I bet "Please put the item in the bag" goes through the checker's head. That would be awful. It would drive me nuts.

Is this, was this, a real girl?

This is not a girl, but a doll. I spotted it in a Snohomish, Wash., antique store. Don't you think a real girl modeled for this doll? The face is too different from most dolls, and who would ever think up such a face?

I didn't buy the doll, just took a picture.

If the doll is based on a real girl, then who was she? I have a big urge to find out. Maybe someone will read this and tell me. It would be great to find out, and then meet the girl, who would probably be a senior citizen by now, as I think this doll must be pretty old.

As I starred at this doll, I wondered what it would be like if someone created a doll that looked just like your own daughter or sister or someone close to you -- or even you when you were young. What if you were in a store -- like I was in Snohomish, and you turned a corner and there it was -- a doll that looked just like you or your daughter when she was young? It would be eerie -- a Twilight Zone kinda experience.

This kind of thing can happen. I don't want to find a doll that looks like my daughter when she was little. Well, maybe I do now that I think about it. I'd buy it, for sure. I know that.

Update on my life

As you may know, my father died suddenly in early February. My fragile, 85-year-old mother Ruth ("Ruthie" to friends) was left without her husband after 62 years of marriage. Since then, many of you have written to me, wondering if I'm okay. And so for you, and others who care, I will tell you what has been happening with me.

Photos: Above: A recent photo of my parents with two of their great-grandchildren. Below: Their wedding photo. My father was a pilot with the 8th Air Force in Europe during WW II.

IN EARLY FEBRUARY, I was one day away from ending a three-week RV trip in my new motorhome when I got word that my father, 87, was dying. He had driven himself to the hospital emergency room with a piece of turkey stuck in his throat. Removing it should have been a routine matter, but, alas, there were complications.

I raced from southern Oregon to his hospital bed in the small gold rush-era town of Grass Valley, Calif. He was barely conscious. He tried to speak, but could only whisper "Chuuucck." He wanted to say more, but was too drugged. The nurse said I should let him sleep: there was a glimmer of hope then that he would recover. Eight hours later, at 3 a.m., he died. What he was trying to say to me will haunt me forever.

After the funeral and attending to a myriad of financial and legal chores, I drove my motorhome with my mother aboard to my home in Washington state, where she has stayed with me ever since. I am the oldest of three children, and the only one with the time or appropriate living space to care for her.

THE SADNESS OF MY FATHER'S DEATH has been somewhat tempered by the joy of being with my mother. My father, as hard as he tried, could not care for her properly. He could barely boil water, much less cook a meal. My mother was too tired and weak to cook, so he fed her prepared "meals" from the local discount grocery store. And even though he could not recognize it, she was weakening. I was terribly worried about her health, but was powerless to do anything: my father always insisted on the final word.

In the last decade, my parent's children and grandchildren moved away from them, most to the Seattle area. And so with no nearby family, and few close friends, they were isolated. My mother was unhappy.

Today, even though she misses her husband, she is surrounded again by her children, grandchildren and great grandchildren. She has gained weight and strength from eating healthy meals. My father always insisted on being center stage when his family was around. So when I was with my parents, my mother didn't talk much. Now, she is witty, and for the first time in years appears to be looking forward to the future.

Although she is frail, she is easy to care for. She appreciates my help. "Oh, I am sorry to be a burden on you," she says often. And I tell her she is no burden, but a blessing. Helping her feel better, taking her places, watching baseball games with her (one of her favorite things), is incredibly rewarding. Seeing her smile warms my heart. I am so fortunate for this time.

Soon, she will move into an assisted living place, a two-minute walk from my office and only five minutes from my home. She wants to do it. Even though I know it is best, I will miss tucking her into bed, preparing her meals, and competing with her on Jeopardy. Oh, I will spend a lot of time with her at her new home, but having her in mine has been extra special.

ON OUR MOTORHOME TRIP from northern California, I learned much about myself by observing my mother. She read each road sign, often out loud, and laughed at the unusual ones. We passed a big barn with the word "Bargain" (not "Bargains") in ten-foot letters. "I don't think I will go there," she said, "they only have one bargain!" It was exactly the same thing I would think to myself if I saw such a sign. Again and again, she made funny, often insightful remarks. I was amazed at how her thinking and mine were so similar. It was easy to see, too, how happy she was to be in a motorhome.

She loves to be on the road. In 1929, when she was seven years old, her parents took her from Southern California to Illinois on Route 66. They camped by the road and stayed in tourist cabins. She loved it as a little girl. "Roadtrips" were -- and still are -- in her blood. It's no wonder they are in mine, too. I know if I asked her to take a motorhome trip to the East Coast and back that she would be ready to go in an hour.

My mother and father traveled extensively in a series of RVs. They started with a travel trailer when my brother, sister and I were young, and after retiring owned a series of motorhomes.

They last visited me with their RV less than a year ago. But they both knew it was their final trip. My father's eyesight was failing and my mother was frail. It was sad for them, and sad for me, knowing how much they enjoyed traveling by RV.

Since my father's death, I have had little time to devote to the RV Travel newsletter, this blog or to RVbookstore.com, the bread and butter of my livelihood. But things are settling down now and I am back to work about half time. It feels good.

It was sad to lose my father, but I was lucky to have had him for 60 years. Now, I have my mother close by, and that has brought new meaning to me, and great happiness to be able to give something back to her. It's strange how our roles have reversed. I'm sure I will write more about all this later.

Free hotel room, just roll the dice

Only in Nevada! In a state best known for gambling, a billboard like this one for a hotel in Tonopah comes as no surprise. I didn't roll the dice because as an RVer I carry my room with me, but if you are passing through town and need a place to stay, you might want to try your luck. Although there are at least a half dozen hotels (more like motels) in Tonopah, this is among the best, and there's a reasonably priced RV park in the back with full hookups.

Lonely store in a lonely town

Mina, Nevada, along U.S. 95, is a few dozen homes, a few businesses, a tiny post office and one or two gas stations. I stopped at one station, not for gas but for an ice cream, which was advertised on the front door. The clerk was smoking a cigarette and playing one of the three slot machines in the musty, dark place, where half the shelves were bare. The area behind the counter was a hodgepodge of trashy looking odds and ends. The ice cream was in a regular refrigerator. I opted for what I thought was an Eskimo Pie, but it was chocolate inside, which was acceptable. I wondered how long it had been in that fridge, but I didn't ponder that thought too long. "It's frozen, so it's okay," I figured. But I concluded that I would probably not buy any bread due to the potential staleness factor. As I paid for my ice cream bar I asked the clerk if she really did sell gasoline. As you can tell by the weathered sign, that would be a logical question. "Oh, yes, she said, but we're out right now."

As I left the store into the chilly but sunny day, the clerk walked back to her slot machine, dropped in a coin and puffed her cigarette.

Alone in the desert, but not really

It's a little frustrating to head off into the middle of the desert with the intent of getting away from civilization, and then realizing you can't do it. No matter where you go, if you look above you will see evidence of mankind. Even along the most remote backroad, they will be there -- slivers of ice marking the path of an aircraft high above. In southern Nevada you will often see six or more at a time -- looking like comets as they streak silently across the sky.

Sometimes when I am in a very remote place in the desert, I will pull off the road, turn off my RV's engine and walk into the vast expanse of dirt and cactus. Being from the Northwest, where one's footsteps are marked by the sloshing of shoes, it's always a thrill to hear their "crunch, crunch" in the desert. On these walks, I will often come to a point where I will pause to enjoy my solitude. But if I should look above, they will be there -- airliners speeding across the heavens. As I look skyward I know that at least a few passengers are pressing their noses to the window, looking over the vast "nothing" below. They don't see any evidence of me because I am 100 times smaller than an ant. But I see them. Sometimes I wish they would just go away.

No evidence of civilization

I camped last night in the isolated Mesquite Campground in Death Valley National Park. It's five miles from Scotty's Castle at about 2,500 feet in the lonely northern corner of the park. You can see my campsite in the photo. Last night before I went to bed, I stepped outside to see the stars. The nearest town is 50 miles away and it's tiny. So there was no artificial light to interfere with Mother Nature. Above me were a million stars. The Milky Way actually looked milky, like a high thin cloud. There were four other RVs scattered in the campground, but, like mine, they were dark. So on this night, all I could see were stars with the exception of a few distant planes, their strobe lights blinking like pin-point-sized flash bulbs.

As my eyesight adjusted to the darkness, more stars appeared. The only sound was the wind. It was magnificent!

A lonely road helps me think

This is a scene from highway 267 leaving Death Valley (via Scotty's Castle), heading east toward U.S. 95 in Nevada, a major two-lane route from Reno to Las Vegas. For most of highway 267, this is what the road looks like. I don't think there is a single residence along the 27 miles from Scotty's Castle to U.S. 95. There's at least one ghost town, which you can see in the picture. Otherwise, it's nothing but road and wide open spaces including a couple of huge dry lakebeds you can drive on for a smoother ride than any freeway. I once hit a golf ball on one of these lakebeds and after landing it bounced forever. I never found it.

In the 45 minutes it took me to drive this road, only two or three vehicles passed from the other direction. When I wanted to take a picture, I could just stop in the middle of the road and snap away. Actually, I did that a few times. You can almost always see another vehicle approaching for miles so it is next to impossible to get hit. I like roads like this because I can get a lot of thinking done.

A self-portrait at Death Valley

I get letters pretty often from readers who wonder why I never publish my photo. "What do you look like?" they ask. I tell them to think of me as tall, dark and handsome. That's what I am, of course, but then maybe that's a lie. Anyway, as I was walking through the Mesquite Campground at Death Valley early yesterday morning, I decided it was time to take a self-portrait. So here it is. One thing you probably did not know about me is that I have very long legs.

And speaking of "tall, dark and handsome," do you know where that term came from? It was based on movie idol Rudoph Valentino back in the 1920s. But the actor wasn't tall at all, just average. Strange.

Coyote begs at Death Valley

This coyote was waiting for a handout from tourists at the entrance to Scotty's Castle in Death Valley. I snapped this picture but did not feed him. The last time I was here was five years ago and a coyote was begging then, but down the road at the Mesquite Campground. Some misguided park visitors feed these animals. They don't know if a wild animal becomes dependent on people food it can forget how to find food on its own -- not good for survival.

A reminder how fast our transportation has changed

This is a stagecoach that served as public transportation in the Death Valley vicinity from 1890 to 1910. In case you are math-challenged, that's about 100 years ago. You can see this weathered stage and other antique vehicles in the museum at Death Valley.

Isn't it amazing how far our mode of transport has evolved in such a short time? Can you imagine riding aboard this over dirt roads in 100 degree heat? No fun!

By the way, have you heard the term "riding shotgun?" The expression was suggested by the armed guard with a shotgun who often rode beside the driver on stagecoaches like this one in the old American West.

Death Valley palm trees under construction?

If you walk through the Furnace Creek Ranch oasis in Death Valley you cannot miss the many date palm trees that are propped up with wooden supports. No, the trees are not sick. More than 130 of them have simply been relocated to make room for a one-megawatt solar photovoltaic (PV) system that will soon generate enough energy to power one third of the park concessionaire's needs -- about the same as what 400 average-sized homes would use. And it's appropriate that the facility is located in Death Valley, the sunniest place in the USA. When it goes online this spring, it will be the largest privately owned solar system in the country.

Over the next 30 years, the system will eliminate the emission of more than 284,000 tons of carbon dioxide, nitrogen oxide and sulfur dioxide -- primary contributors to global warming, smog and acid rain. This is equal to planting more than 54,000 trees and removing more than 3,700 cars from California's highways. The system requires virtually no maintenance and will even withstand a direct hit from a golf ball from the Furnace Creek Golf Course -- easy hacker striking distance.

Oh, yes. . . the wooden palm tree supports will be removed once the trees' roots take hold.

Amazing nature trivia from Death Valley

Here are a few things I have learned since being in Death Valley National Park.

Badwater, at 282 feet below sea level, is the lowest spot in the Western Hemisphere (see the pic). Last night I was there at dusk, and alone, making me the lowest human in the Western Hemisphere. I felt very special.

Mesquite trees grow throughout Death Valley. But did you know that to find water they can extend their roots 60 feet into the earth? True!

Pelicans sometimes winter in Death Valley in a desert oasis. So if you see one, you are not hallucinating from sun stroke. And speaking of sun, back on July 10, 1913, the temperature hit 134 degrees-- a world record high temperature for years. I was here once when the temperature was 122 degrees! Going from air conditioning to the outside was like walking into a wall of heat.

Packrats are found in Death Valley. You can see a stuffed one in the picture.

Kangaroo rats are plentiful. They do not look like kangaroos, but like mice. The amazing thing about a kangaroo rat is that it needs no drinking water to survive -- not even moist food. The rats manufacturer all the water they need from even the driest seeds. It's unlikely you'll see a kangaroo rat because they are nocturnal.

The golf course at Furnace Creek is more than 200 feet below sea level, making it the world's lowest grass course. In the summer, coyotes sometimes rest on the cool greens. So be careful you don't bonk one. When you camp at Furnace Creek, you will often hear coyotes howling in the night. And a tip: make sure you never tie up your pet outside your RV: the coyotes like to dine on poodles and other assorted animals. Park rangers keep a count of the number of coyote pet meals.

The Furnace Creek oasis, where I am now, produces one million gallons of fresh spring water every day. Imagine that! For miles around, Death Valley is dry desert. But in the village, palm trees are everywhere and a little stream passes right through.

And speaking of water, did you know that fish live in Death Valley? But don't bring your fishing pole, because they are itty bitty fellows - barely longer than an inch. But, boy, are they hearty! The desert Pupfish can live in water three times saltier than in the ocean, and in temperatures more than 100 degrees!

I hope you enjoyed these facts and figures.

Gas, cell phones and WiFi in Death Valley

In my continuing quest to find warm weather, I am now in the Furnace Creek oasis in Death Valley, California. The good news is that it is sorta warm here -- about 60 degrees. The bad news is that it is really, really windy -- more than 50 mile per hour gusts yesterday. Last night, half asleep, I feared my little wheeled house would blow away to Kansas.

Here are a few news items. Gas prices, as always, are higher (both at Furnace Creek and Stovepipe Wells) than elsewhere in the state due to the remoteness of the area. Diesel is available at Furnace Creek.

Cell phones do not work. My Verizon service and a neighbor's T-Mobile are out of range as well. The good news about that is that you can walk around without having to listen to people gab on their phones. When dining in the two restaurants in the Furnace Creek oasis, you can do so in peace without phones ringing and being subjected to boring conversations.

Yesterday afternoon, the Corkscrew Saloon was packed for the Superbowl. Eighty percent of the crowd was for New York: I think they were rooting for the underdog.

Some really good news for Web Geeks Like Me is that free WiFi is now available in the village and even across the street in the Sunset Campground (huge parking lot for RVs only). If you have a computer with you and want to increase your odds of accessing the Web from your coach, get a site close to the general store. Otherwise, you can take your computer into the village and get online there. There is also free WiFi at the park visitor center, but I am told it is not as strong a signal.

Tortilla Chip offers Golden State welcome

This is a true story. Just before entering California, I stocked up on groceries in Brookings, Oregon. Among the groceries was a bag of tortilla chips. Later that afternoon, shortly after crossing into California, I pulled to the side of the highway for a snack. I opted for tortilla chips and salsa. And what happened next is truly amazing! After opening the bag of chips, the first one I grabbed was almost the exact same shape as the state of California. Again, I am not kidding! And, no it was not a special bag of "California" chips, but regular ol' chips. I did not alter the chip at all. I fact, I saved it to show others. I think this must be an omen. I don't know what kind of omen, but I feel pretty strongly that it's an omen.

Cats, Horses and Chickens

I am parked by the Orange Works in Strathmore, Calif., along state route 65 in the San Joaquin Valley. The Orange Works is a roadside business that sells locally grown goods, especially plenty of tasty items made from oranges, which are grown by the millions in these parts. As I was paying, the clerk's cell phone rang. It sounded like a kitten. "I tried music, but I couldn't hear it," she said. I told her that I had never heard a cell phone ring that sounded like a kitten. "My daughter's phone ring is a horse," she said to prove that she was not alone in her choice of unusual ring sounds. And then she said, "last night I was at a basketball game and a guy's phone rang and it was a chicken." She gave me my change and then I had to leave, which was too bad because I wanted to hear more about other animal-related rings.

What's an Iron Ranger?

Have you ever heard of an "Iron Ranger?" I hadn't, until yesterday when I entered Fort Ross State Historic Park along U.S. 1 in northern California. Fort Ross, in case you do not know, is where the Russians settled in the 1830s to raise crops and hunt sea otters. But once the animals were virtually wiped out and the crops alone could not justify the expense of the fort, the Russians went home, selling the fort to John Sutter (of Sutter's Fort in Sacramento). Anyway. . . an Iron Ranger, I learned, is the "Pay Box" where you deposit your entry fee.

Unique tree attracts attention along California coast

This spectacularly trimmed tree is along California Highway 1 in the tiny northern California coastal village of Manchester. Look for it on the east side of the highway as you pass through town. What appears to be a woman sitting beneath the tree is a silhouette cut from metal.

No recycled toilet paper for me

I did not buy this toilet paper in the store today even though it has the fancy name of Natural Value, which, at first glance seems very good. I am in favor of recycling paper plates, newspapers, old paper dolls and assorted other paper goods. In my household we only use our toilet paper only once. And then we flush it. That's the way it should be, if you ask me.

This RV is one big blurr

I was walking through Richardson Grove in the California redwood country. U.S. 101 was just to my right. My small digital camera was in my pocket. The day was cloudy and the giant redwood trees blocked most of the daylight. Even so, I decided I would try to get a photo of an RV going by. After only a minute of waiting, a big brown and gold motorcoach approached in the distance. So I got ready. Just as it passed, I snapped this photo. The lens stayed open a long time to grab enough light, turning the motorhome into one giant blurr. Still, I like the result.

RV park guests leave rock art messages

Ireland's RV Park is downtown Gold Beach, Ore. It's on the west side of the main street (U.S. 101), near the south end of the small coastal town. Look carefully or you will miss the long driveway that leads to the quiet, grassy RV park, which is a stone's throw from the beach. And speaking of stones -- park guests through the years have personalized hundreds of them during their stays.

Some are simply names, but others feature elaborate messages, slogans, words of wisdom, and often art. I liked one rock that was painted to look like a football. Some are faces. Quite a few have RV themes, like the one above. After entering the park, look for the two-story-high lighthouse -- not a real one, but a good replica, on the west side of the park. The rocks are at the base. And be sure to climb the steps to the top of the lighthouse for a great panoramic view of the beach and Pacific Ocean. I stayed at the park for $22 for full-hookups, which was the off-season rate. But I recommend this place if you are in the area.