Why we travel

A Joshua tree.

We spent a week at Joshua Tree National Park in early February. It was a good trip and our first trip to the desert. I would certainly go back.

We did a lot of exploring and took a lot of day-trips. We don't do a lot of hiking as I am a candidate for knee replacement surgery (a consult is scheduled for April when we return to Michigan). But it was a good time and we did take many walks along easy trails in the desert.

King liked to climb hills in
the desert while we were on
our walks. He wanted to see
how high up he had to go to get
cell phone reception

One morning a group of three college students knocked on the trailer door. They were from a liberal arts college (and I can't remember the name) in northern Arizona and were interviewing campers to find out what brought them to Joshua Tree. I think they were rather surprised that a couple from Michigan even knew about Joshua Tree. Much as I am surprised by the number of people who do no realize just how big the Great Lakes truly are.

The students were rock climbers and I learned from them Joshua Tree has some of the sharpest granite in the U.S.. They showed me the cuts and scrapes on their hands -- although I would not have doubted them anyway.

Their interview made me think about why King and I travel.

King probably has his own reasons. I doubt he can even put into words why. But for me ... it is something I have wanted to do for a long, long time.

The summer between my freshman and sophomore years in college I was at home working for my

We visited the General Patton Museum on
one of our day trips. This is a 1950
military fire truck. My father was
a firefighter on an airfield in London
during World War II.

father in the dog food factory he managed. Two semesters of college in and I was already tired of studying. I stood on the line packing dog food and thought about what I wanted to do. It was a miserable summer. I had been away from home for a year and although back then I was a pretty straight-laced kid, being back home under my parents rules was difficult to say the least. Living in a small town where my every move was reported back to my father was grueling. I wanted to buy a van and just go. More than anything. Just go. Not acceptable as far as my parents were concerned and in truth, I never told them what I wanted to do. So being the good kid I was, I worked all summer, loaded my belongings into the family car and Mom drove me back to school in the fall.

King and I got married before either of us graduated and moved into married student housing.  It was an entire community of like-minded students -- an interesting time and probably as much education as classes.

Finally we both graduated (I graduated three months before our fourth child was born so mine was a long-track degree). Family, jobs and all the responsibilities that go with everyday living put the desire to just take off and travel on the back burner.

Sunrise in the desert.

Apparently, however, that desire for adventure never went away. It popped up again when King retired... but the timing wasn't right. My father's health was failing and after he passed Mom needed my sisters and I to watch after her while she slowly faded away with dementia...so we stuck around for a few more years.

King and I started talking about traveling more seriously after Mom died. My older sister, I later learned, thought we were nuts. But to her credit she never said anything to us. I may have caught her rolling her eyes as I talked about de-cluttering and down-sizing our home. But I tended to pretend I didn't notice. I don't think she truly thought we would actually go through with our plans.

She was the one who planned everything in advance and made reservations for dinners six months ahead of time. She died before she did everything on her bucket list. It was our wake-up call.

King in his winter coat.

So here I sit, less than a year later after her death, sitting on my bed in our travel trailer. I took a break from my writing to help King find his winter coat as it is a little chilly at our new location in the Angeles National Forest. We are heading back to Michigan in about six weeks because we told the gentleman whose hobby farm we are caretakers for (our post-retirement gig) we would be back for one last season.

We are learning the ins and outs of living in a 16-foot travel trailer (technically it is a 19-foot trailer, but you can't count the three-foot hitch as living space). It's a lot of togetherness. Which is probably why I am sitting on the bed writing and King is outside  reading. 

But we are doing what we want. It is different -- not having commitments or a time frame. It takes a little getting used to. It is easy to lose track of days (is today Wednesday or Thursday)? The start and the end of the weekend are no longer looked upon with euphoria or gloom. They are just days.

It is a good thing. No looking back. No regrets.

Road trip within a road trip

We arrived at Monte Cristo campground in the Angeles National Forest around 5:30 p.m. Friday, Feb. 10. It was by far the most nerve-wracking drive to date. Around 18 miles of uphill hairpin turns (and I am terrified of heights) at dusk in the rain. We pulled off at every turn-out to let the faster commuters pass us but still received a one-finger salute a fair number of times (or perhaps that is the way people of California demonstrate their age or IQ to out-of-staters).  I am not a big fan of Californians at the moment...

Hairpin turns through the mountains
were a test of our endurance... for each other
and commuters on the road.

 I will never again call a FIP (Fantastic Illinois Person) a FIP again. Don't call me a Troll (someone who lives south of the Mackinac Bridge) or a Fudgie (someone who visits Mackinac Island and visits the Fudge shops) ever. Name-calling is so cruel. So is extending a middle finger.

After our trip here I kept insisting we needed to go back to Michigan and I have to say for a minute I think King agreed with me. But in the morning we got up, finished setting up our campsite and drove in to Palmdale. I think it is about 20 miles from the campground, although it is an hour drive with the roads. Even MapQuest agrees with us on that one. The road signs (Angeles National Forest Highway) suggests snow chains for all vehicles, but it is 56 degrees at the moment and there is no snow in the forecast. We did see small (as in tiny) patches of snow on some hillsides.

On Sunday afternoon we watched as a parade of cars drove through the campground. A lot families pitched tents and we watched campfires from our campsite during the early part of the evening. Monday morning by 7 a.m. when we got up they were gone. They must have left fairly early in the morning. I will note that many of the cars driving through Sunday did jut that ... drove through and left. Some stopped and chatted for a few minutes. I will let you draw your own conclusion.

We hiked a little during the week and spent a lot of time reading. When campers would leave King would scour their campsites and pick up un-used wood from fire-pits so we had campfires often. We would drive in to Palmdale almost ever day to use the internet and look for campsites in other areas. We actually woke up Wednesday (Feb. 15) with the intention of leaving but decided to make a day-trip to Hermosa Beach instead. Our second oldest son lived there for a few years so it was something King really wanted to do. I am not a fan of driving in traffic but King does not seem to mind -- although we snipe at each other often about which lane he should be in. Drama on the home-front with our granddaughter, her father and step-mother (via phone conversations) kept the trip home even more

Hermosa Beach

interesting.

At any rate, it was a pleasant day at the beach -- a long-sleeves and jeans type of day. We got back to the

campground early in the afternoon and decided it was time to move on. Sooo this morning (Feb. 17) we hooked up the trailer and drove to Beaumont, Calif., and are staying at a small county park. We are the only campers here. It is a lovely park, although the information I had for it was rather dated and apparently reservations were supposed to be made online. No internet service is available here so I guess we will pay retroactively after we leave ... unless the campground host boots us out before then. We got into the campground by paying via an automated machine. King had to stand and flag down traffic trying to break a $20 as it took "exact change only." I believe the $10 we paid was simply an entrance fee. Guess I will figure it all out when I get online again.

As we were parking the trailer a nice gentleman came and talked to us four about 45 minutes. "Bob" -- a retired U.S. Marine -- is a volunteer at the park. When he learned we were from Michigan he asked us what was going on in Dearborn. Guess I have some news to catch up on when we get back to civilization ... or maybe I won't even try. I hate to bury my head in the sand but ....