Really, this is the loneliest highway

This is U.S. Highway 6 in Nevada, somewhere east of Tonopah. I read once that less than 150 cars a day travel this lonely route. So, no traffic jams here. The Nevada Tourism people promote U.S. 50 as the "Loneliest Highway" but it's a freeway compared to this. A hot springs was a few yards behind where I snapped this photo, right by the road.

New blog: Mannequins and other fake people

Some people collect coins or stamps. I collect photos of mannequins -- not necessarily the ones in department store windows, but ones that I find in places you would least expect them. I also take pictures of dolls, toys even statues -- as long as they look human but are not. Please visit my new blog, NotPeople.com, where I have begun posting the hundred or so photos of mannequins and other human-like objects that I have taken through the years.

The revenge of the dinosaurs

I snapped this photo in Vernal, Utah many years ago -- back in the stone ages of film photography, and when black and white photography was not an ancient art. I like this photo very much. I have published it many times. If you were to see it without an explanation, you would think it was trick photography or that the town was being invaded by a giant Tyrannosaurus Rex.

Well, the photo is real. At the time, the dinosaur, a fake one of course, was right along the main drag with a photo in front that said "Welcome to Vernal."

I believe another dinosaur has replaced the T-Rex now. Maybe you can tell me in the comments section.

Collecting grocery shopping lists

My 18-year-old daughter works part time as a grocery store courtesy clerk. She bags at the checkout stand, stocks shelves, helps customers find things and walks customers to their cars to load their groceries.

Last night, Emily showed me a plastic baggie filled with a colorful assortment of folded up notes. "I have been collecting shopping lists," she said. "We're supposed to throw any litter in the trash." But she collects the shopping lists instead.

"You can learn a lot about people from their grocery lists," she explained. One by one we examined them. About half were written on lined paper from notebooks big and small. One short list was written by someone with a shaky hand on a Post-It note with a drug company logo. "She was probably old," I said, assuming that it was a "she" because the shaky handwriting was like my mother's before she died at age 85.

Another list was on of NASCAR promotional literature. "Is beer on the list?" I wondered. Nope. Most lists were on one side of the paper. One had only four items. "Couldn't someone remember only a few things?" I asked. Then I thought that with my lousy memory I might bring along such a short list.

The blue ink on one shopping list was smeared and the paper wrinkled. "I got it from a cart that had been in the rain," said Emily.

It was pretty obvious that one long list was for Thanksgiving supplies -- Dressing, gravy, cranberries, marshmallows, etc.

Sadly, there was a lot of bad spelling. But I suppose even if you spell tomatoes wrong you still know what to buy. It's not like you're writing for a large audience.

I asked Emily if all the lists were written in English. She said, yes. I told her that if she worked in Southern California it would be a different story. "I bet half of them, maybe more, would be in Spanish."

Yup, it's interesting what you can learn about people by looking at their shopping lists.

Read Emily's blog.

Me and an ugly tent trailer a long time ago

This is me camped at Death Valley in the 1950s. I'm the little speck of kid in the middle of the photo, sitting on the step of what appears to be a big tent, but which is actually a primitive tent trailer. My mother is bending over, cooking. Notice her camping attire: a dress! I assume my father took the photo. The trailer was made by J.C. Higgins which I believe was Sears' brand. Looking it brings two words to mind: Mutt Ugly!

I have been back to Death Valley about a dozen times since this photo was taken and plan to go again maybe even this year. Now I camp in a comfy motorhome, which is better than that old tent trailer by about a million light years.

Motorhome crashes with 13 people aboard

This motorhome crashed recently after its brakes failed coming down Highway 14A in Utah. The driver laid the RV down on its side to stop. Two people were injured. And that's good news because the 37-foot Gulf Stream motorhome was carrying 13 people -- eight adults and five children, the youngest 6 months.

Traveling with this many people aboard a single RV is stupid -- it likely puts the rig in danger of being overloaded, and, probably more important, most of the passengers do not have seat belts. Everyone aboard this runaway RV should thank their lucky stars they weren't killed. The driver should never be allowed to pilot an RV again. A highway patrol officer at the scene said no citations were issued.

The Beav and Wally are old guys now

This photo showed up in my email. I forwarded it ten friends. Maybe you've seen it.

The guys in the photo are the TV actors who played Beaver Cleaver, his older brother Wally (right) and devious Eddy Haskell (left), Wally's buddy who was total wise ass until he appeared in front of Ward and June Cleaver -- Mom and Dad to the Beav and Wally -- when he was so polite he'd make a fellow kid puke, but make a parent think "Oh, he's such a nice boy."

I watched Leave It To Beaver about every week when I was kid. If you are in your 50s or 60s, then maybe you did, too.

And now, here comes this picture, and all of a sudden my childhood chums look like Hell. So, the question I must ask myself is "Do I look that bad, too?"

Of course not. No way!

But maybe I'm not the one to judge: Every day of my life while I brush my teeth I see myself in the mirror. So I get used to me, the old guy compared to me, the young guy.

I think if humans were only allowed to look in a mirror once every ten years -- say on their 40th, 50th, 60th and 70th birthdays -- they would probably commit suicide or beg for anti-depressants.

Anyway, that's my thought for the day. To be honest, I wish I had never seen this picture. It makes me face reality, which is a lousy thing to face.

Who is this old man?

I photographed this old man in Quartzsite, Ariz. But as you have probably figured out, he's not real. He's a weathered mannequin. But I like his face and his eyes. When you stand right next to him and look into his eyes, it's kind of spooky because you swear he is looking right back at you. I wonder if this mannequin man was modeled after a real person. My guess is yes.

If you know who he is or was, please let me know. And if, by any chance, you happen to be that person, please contact me or send me your photo. I won't be holding my breath, but I thought I should at least ask.

He's pretty interesting looking, isn't he?

The disappearing blue mailboxes

Have you noticed that mailboxes like this one have disappeared from most street corners? They were once all over the place in most big cities and suburbs. Even in the good ol' days you'd seldom find one in a tiny town because the post office was usually a short walk from about anywhere. In my town of Edmonds, Wash., I first noticed the public mailboxes disappearing a couple of years ago. Then, last week, one of the few that remained disappeared, one I would use to drop off a letter on my way home from work.

I guess the postal folks have decided that people can either use their home mailbox or drop by the post office. It's probably a money-saving move -- fewer stops for mail carriers.

Keep an eye on your town's blue mailboxes. If they are not gone yet, I bet it won't be long.

Why I like to travel in my RV like a gypsy

I came across a book recently about "Running Away With the Circus." But what it was really about was running away from one's present life and to a new one. Quitting an executive job to take up pottery-making would be an example. Retiring early to go full-time RVing would be another.

When you were young did you ever dream of joining the circus? I did. Oh, I was never serious about it, but I did ponder the idea of drifting from place to place gypsy-style. I have never understood my need to be a drifter. Some people need to plant roots firmly and then stay planted. I never desired deep roots, but shallow ones that could be easily replanted elsewhere.

I know people who love one place. They may try living in different towns, but never feel quite at home until they arrive in a special town where, for the first time, they feel complete. "This is it," they say, and that is where they remain forever.

I have never found such a place. My place has always been somewhere different from the place before. And my house — my very favorite house — has always been my motor-house, the one that allows me to live as a gypsy without being so conspicuous that people think me odd. I like waking up often in a different place, but I especially like it when I awake in such a place in my very own RV's bed. I believe this is like having your cake and eating it, too.

Right now, I'm feeling a bit of what I felt as a young man when I dreamed of joining the circus — of seeing new places and having new experiences. Have you ever stood at the airport and watched a friend's plane take off to a place far away? Did you want to go? Did you feel envy? Did you feel left behind? That's how I feel right now.

One of the funniest gag videos ever

This is one of the funniest videos ever. One minute of belly-wrenching laughter! Imagine yourself in this situation. If you had a weak heart, this might get you. I gotta watch this again! Send this to your friends!

Help my friend Chuck Cirino get a new Ford Fiesta

My long time buddy Chuck Cirino, one of the weirdest guys I know (and I mean that as a compliment, which I think is how Chuck will take it), produced this four-minute video to convince the people at Ford that he should be driving one of their Ford Fiesta cars. Chuck is an avid RVer and one of the most creative guys I have ever met. I know he would appreciate a lot of people watching his very entertaining plea to Ford. So take a look. But be prepared for weirdness. . . which (I am happy to report) is Chuck's specialty.

The flyswatter repairman at the Texaco station

When you are a beginning writer -- one who aspires to write for magazines -- it's difficult to recognize a story even if it hits you on the head. That was me a long time ago. Now, as a writer of many years, if something hits me on the head, I write about it.

What I want to tell you is about one of the stories that I bumped into long ago that I most regret not writing. It happened in Needles, Calif., a town best known for its sizzling summers and Snoopy's brother Spike.

I was on a road trip to the Midwest from my home in northern California. My gas tank was low so I pulled into a gas station. I think it was a Texaco station. It was unbearably hot -- a day you want nothing to do with sunshine.

THIS WAS A LONG TIME AGO when an attendant would pump your gas. Sort of like present-day Oregon. While my tank was being filled, I stretched my legs. In those days, gas stations did not have mini-marts, only Coke machines that dispensed a bottle for a quarter. So, in telling you that I was an adult in an era when Coke was a quarter, you know that I am old.

Quarter in hand, I walked toward the machine, which was near the big window of the gas station's greasy and messy office. Inside, an old man sat on chair. I couldn't tell what he was doing. But then on the window I spotted a hand-made cardboard sign: "Fly Swatters Repaired."

Sure enough, the man was repairing a fly swatter. I can't remember now how he did it because I wasn't curious about unusual things back then like I am today. But I do recall thinking that you could buy a brand new fly swatter for less than a dollar. So how could a person could earn any money repairing them?

I watched the man for a minute, then went back to my car, paid my $3 and drove away heading east on Route 66.

After a few minutes I began to think about the old man. I thought about turning back to talk with him, to learn more about repairing fly swatters. But as each minute passed, so did another mile, and turning around became a bigger commitment. I kept going.

I returned to Needles a few years later on another trip. I stopped at the gas station. The man was not there, and there was no sign advertising fly swatter repair.

I asked the station attendant about the man, but he said he had never heard of him. I suspected that's what he would say. Still, I was hugely disappointed in not learning about the old man, and how and why he repaired fly swatters.

High gas prices in Needles, California

Here is a tip for you: Do not fill up your gas tank in Needles, California. Needles borders Arizona near the southern tip of Nevada. It was a popular stop on old Route 66, which is now I-40. For west-bound motorists, Needles in the first stop in California. But take my advice: don't buy gas or diesel fuel there. It's a ripoff. I think it always has been.

Yesterday, I filled my motorhome's tank at an Arizona gas station just a mile east of the California border at Blythe. It costs $2.05 a gallon. Then I drove 100 miles north on lonely U.S. highway 95 to Needles. The same diesel fuel I had purchased early for $2.05 a gallon was now between $3.29 and $3.59. It was hard to believe.

Then, 100 miles or so north through mostly desert, I decided to top off my fuel tank tiny Daggett, a few miles east of Barstow: The price? $2.59 a gallon -- a dollar less than in Needles.

Needles has always been an unattractive town (it's honored many days of each summer as the hottest spot in the country), but it did have some great old motels in the Route 66 days. Now, most of the motels are gone or closed, and the main street looks anemic.

Just drive past the gas stations in this town unless you are running on fumes.

Lake Havasu City's London Bridge village is a ghost town

The London Bridge is the greatest thing that ever happened to Lake Havasu City, Arizona. Robert McCulloch, whose name you may recognize from McCulloch Chain Saw fame, bought it for $2.4 million, then flew it from England piece by piece and reassembled it in 1971 over a lagoon he carved right alongside Lake Havasu.

The town was a speck in the desert back then. McCulloch figured the bridge would be such a novelty that people would come to see it. He was right -- they came in droves, making it one of Arizona's most popular tourist attractions.

BETTING THE TOWN WOULD GROW like asparagus, McCulloch bought up gobs of land, and when tourists came to see the bridge, some decided to stay. They bought the land and built houses. In the dry desert, McCulloch was swimming in Green.

When the bridge was erected, so was a small English village at its eastern edge. Many tourists shops moved in, plus restaurants and even a hotel. For awhile, it was a beehive of activity.

But when I last visited a few years ago, the English village looked sick. Half the shops were gone. There were few tourists. And then, a week ago when I stopped again, it was worse: only a few shops remained. The only English-themed gift shop offered tee-shirts and uninspired trinkets. I wondered how long it would stay open.

I hope the city does something to get businesses back to the village again. It seems silly to me that hasn't already happened.

If you visit, camp at Lake Havasu State Park, which is a short walk from the bridge and downtown Lake Havasu City. All size RVs can be accommodated. . . Read a story about Lake Havasu City that I wrote back when the English village was looking good.

A sign in Needles honors Spike the Beagle

Sometimes if you know a little history of a place you can spot subtle landmarks that others would miss. As I was driving into Needles, Calif., I was thinking about the town, which is most famous for being the blowtorch of America on a bunch of summer days: the temp can reach 110 with no problem, even 120. And it does so day after day.

I was also thinking about Charles Schultz, the Peanuts' cartoonist who lived for a time in Needles as a child. I recently read Schultz's biography (he was a very complex fellow). Besides Charlie Brown his most famous cartoon character was the beagle Snoopy. But every once in awhile Snoopy would step out of the spotlight and his brother Spike would step in. Spike looks like Snoopy, but he has a mustache. And he lives in Needles. In the cartoons, Spike would usually be found in the company of a Saguaro cactus.

And so as I pulled into Needles from the south on U.S. 95, I immediately "got" the name of the street that's in the photo. It's a very minor road, but I bet it was named after Spike the beagle.

Inflation: Quarter horses now cost 50 cents

If you have kids, then this is likely a familiar sight. My daughter is now 17, so (needless to say) she does not beg me to ride these mechanical "horsies" like she did when she was four or five. The last time I looked at one of these electo ponies -- usually found outside supermarkets -- they costs 25 cents a ride. I used to call them Quarter Horses. But now, I see by this horse outside a Tucson, Ariz., supermarket, that a ride now costs 50 cents, which seems like a lot to me. Once, on a long family RV trip, we found horses like this for a penny at a chain of small Colorado supermarkets. My kid could ride forever for five cents. Yeah. . . the good ol' days.

Saguaro cactus by the thousands!

This is my motorhome in Saguaro National Park. There is not much to see in the park except thousands upon thousands of Saguaro cactuses. They are amazing! Did you know that a Saguaro doesn't even develop an arm until it's about 75 years old and that a cactus can live to be 150 years old? It's true.

They grow very fast in the Tucson area, which is the location of Saguaro National Park. And they are big fellows: some grow as tall as 50 feet. They don't drink much. In a good rainstorm, a Saguaro can gulp 200 gallons of water through its roots -- enough to last a year. The fruit of the Saguaro is made into jelly and wine!

BUT BAD NEWS: Saguraros are so valuable that crooks steal them to sell for big bucks. But the cops are onto these bad dudes and are implanting tiny tracking devices into some cactuses. They take their scanner readers to places where they suspect black market cactuses might be sold, hoping to corral a copped cactus. So cactus rustlers better beware!

I touched something older than the earth

You may wonder what this is: Well, it's a meteor from Outer Space. Its name is the Allende Meterorite and you can see it and even touch it at the Sonoran Desert Museum in Tucson, Arizona.

That's my hand in the picture. I have never touched anything so old and I bet you haven't either. How old? It was created before the earth was formed, and parts of it may be older than the Sun! Little round grains on the meteorite are bits of primordial matter that were once molten droplets formed from our solar system's original dust and gas cloud.

It was neat to touch the meteorite. But it was like touching any other rock. So don't drive to Tucson just to touch it.

The old man that really isn't an old man

At first glance this looks like a very old and (I think) sickly old man. But it's really a mannequin I found at a flea market in Quartzsite, Arizona. His eyes look real. Do you think he is based on a real person? Somebody did a good job making this mannequin. I don't think it was for sale. If it were, I might have bought it. But, gee. . . what do you do with something like that? So I guess I would not have bought it. If you know anything about this mannequin, please tell me about it.

Chick-a-lope

Spotted in Amado, Arizona -- A chick-a-lope. Yes, a cross between a chicken and an antelope! No kidding! Seeing is believing. I saw it.

Coyotes and me, the cactus

It was late afternoon and I was walking in the desert near Tucson. I was checking out cactus and rocks and doing some thinking as I soaked up the afternoon sun and pondered all my friends back home in Seattle in the cold and the mist. And then, off to my right, I saw a dog. But it wasn't a dog all all but a coyote, coming right toward me on an almost for-sure collision course. A second coyote was right behind. For a second I thought they were wolves, but then I remembered the only wolves in these parts were up the road at the Sonoran Desert Museum.

I CLAPPED MY HANDS, making a high pitched "smack" sound. The coyotes stopped in their tracks, looked at me, then trotted back to where they had come from.

A few minutes later, as the sun was about to set, I passed by a short saguaro, and I saw my shadow right on the side of that cactus. So I pulled my little camera from my pocket and snapped this photo. I believe I make a good looking cactus.

Where to find good Mexican food on the RV road

Ah, Mexican food! I love it. I grew up near Los Angeles and I wouldn't lying if I said that after I was weaned off my baby bottle I was woofing down burritos. Okay, maybe it was a few years after that. But I do know that in my high school years my buddies and I would sneak off campus at lunch and beeline to a nearby burrito stand. We never got caught for our illegal escapes.

When my family moved to a small town in the Sierra foothills of northern California, I experienced severe burrito withdrawl. . . and, in fact, serious Mexican food withdrawal. Lucky for me, I now possessed a driver's license and could drive across the mountains to Reno where a Mom and Pop fast food stand cooked up the totally yummiest Mexican food and incredible burritos. Man, I can still taste 'em after all these years.

So it is with great pleasure that I notice that the members of our RVtravel.com reader forum are trading recommendations on good Mexican restaurants. If you love Mexican food, you might want to visit and maybe pick up a tip (or leave one).

A mannequin I liked

I like to take pictures of fake people, better known as mannequins. I have maybe 50 good pics of mannequins. I don't know why I have such a fascination. I took this one last year in Scotland. I liked her face. I think she looks a little like the actress Sandra Bullock. Do you see the resemblance, or is it just me?

By the way, I met a guy the other day who owns a mannequin named Sylvia. She lives in his home in Seattle. If you drive by, you see Sylvia in the front window. At night she's in a spotlight. Every so often she gets a new set of clothes. She is pretty famous in her neighborhood. I would like a mannequin, but I don't know where I would put her (I would want a woman, not a man).

Ladies with peace signs by the ferry dock

I spotted these ladies alongside the ferry dock in my hometown of Edmonds, Washington. All together about a dozen people were holding signs. Ten of the people were promoting peace, and the other two -- both men -- were all by themselves with signs that said "Support Our Troops." I guess those two ideas don't jive because you could tell that the two groups didn't want to be together. After I took this picture, the women suggested I photograph some other people. But I said I liked them best. They smiled, and I walked away and that was that.

Driving a Wienermobile is cool!

That's me in the most unusual RV I have ever driven. Yes, it's the Oscar Mayer Wienermobile. When you drive this vehicle, people stare. Actually, this is an RV, well. . . sort of. You could sleep inside if you wanted, and there is lots of space (used to store a bazillion wiener whistles in the Wienermobile I drove), but there is no stove, bathroom or kitchen sink. So maybe it isn't a very good RV.

I only drove it for a few blocks. It was no big deal: it drove like a regular motorhome. But a lot more people watched me go by than when I drive my RV. If you ever get a chance to drive a Wienermobile, you should do it.

Old photos of people from the past

When I am traveling in my RV along rural roads that pass through main streets of tiny towns, I like to stop at antique shops. I seldom buy anything because I already have too much junk and, besides, there isn't much space in my pint-sized motorhome. But what I sometimes do buy are old postcards and old photographs.

I'm not sure where I purchased the photo of this man, and I know nothing about him other than he has a frightening haircut. I do know that the photo was taken in Eureka, California. I have purchased dozens of photos of people of the past. I don't know when this photo was taken -- the 1930s, maybe? What do you think? My guess is that this man is dead now. He looks distinguished. I will take a wild stab here and say he was a banker.

Every few months or so I pull out my collection of old photos just to stare at them and think. I don't know why they fascinate me so, but they do.

One day after I am gone, maybe someone will find a photo of me and will wonder who I was.