It’s been a quiet week up here at Crystal Lakes . . .

Quiet summer is more like it. Usually. Our moutain abode is one hour from anywhere, and other than the times when weekenders come and inhabit their cabins and stupidly leave food out for the bears, there’s not a lot of excitement up here.

Oh wait, there is an occasional moose and rare wildflower sighting. Now that’s excitement!

We go to town once a week for Wyatt’s bad-boy dog schooling and stock up on provisions. The one hour trip to town is an all-day event.

Otherwise summer’s been spent working on projects for our other entrepreneurial endeavors that will bring in millions for us (hey I can always hope!).

And while the rest of the country swelters in blistering August heat, we are wearing sweats in the morning and long sleeves in the afternoon. A touch of fall is in the air and although afternoon temperatures are in the low 70s, there’s a chill in the air every morning. We are at 8,400 feet elevation after all.

It’s amazing to think how quickly summer flies by in the Rockies, but that’s what makes this place so beautiful. Nothing lasts long enough around here for us to take it for granted.

Including my best girlfriend Renee, who moved back to California a few weks ago. I’m so bummed that she left but we’ll see her again when we head to warmer climates in winter.

But, just this week, fellow road tripper friends Lisa and Sean have decided to lay down some roots in Fort Collins for a while, so that’ll be fun.

This is the first summer we’ve had in years that feels peaceful, beautiful and in sync with all that we treasure in this world.

The feeling isn’t so much because we’re staying put and getting into a routine (we are already talking about where we’re going to spend winter). It’s because we feel like we belong here. This is the first place we’ve ever lived where it feels like our hearts are meant to be here.

The Rockies are being very, very good to us and we are grateful. Thank you Jerry.

There is a magical place, nestled in the hills about 30 miles north of Santa Fe, New Mexico.

A holy, mystical place where you can step back in time.

A place where you can get a handful of miraculous healing dirt, and some of the best tasting roasted chile mixes you have ever tasted.

It is a place where you can commune with the wise one, and feel his words warm your heart. Yes, el Santuario de Chimayo is a sacred place which houses “el pocito” – the small pit of Holy Dirt which many believe has remarkable curative powers – and one legendary miraculous crucifix. But I am referring to el Peregrino Café and Gallery, just across the Plaza of El Potrero. And the wise one I speak of is one Carlos Medina – the Chimayo Chile Man.

This is the place where we first met Charles Medina, where we were first enchanted by his chile spell, and where I had my first tortilla burger. And it is a place where we had to return when passing through Santa Fe. We yearned for some more tasty chile powders, we wanted a tin cross we neglected to buy upon our first visit, and we needed another dose of Mr. Medina’s wisdom.

About the Cross

We may not be very religious, but the small crosses Carlos makes have special meaning to us. After all, Jerry was with us the first time we visited Chimayo. Carlos crafts these crosses – large and small – with strips cut from the original tin roof removed from el Santuario in  1922. We wanted one the first time we saw them, and always regretted not buying it. The small memento we now have hanging on our wall has an even more special meaning since we watched Carlos make and sign after asking how he does it.

About the Chile

The ritual of tasting Charles’ chile mixes alone is well worth the visit to el Chimayo. He’ll have you smell the robust powders and give you a pistachio, but ask you not to chew it. Filling the half shell with chile mix, he’ll explain if it is male or female, and ask if you like hot spice. With dash of salt, he’ll hand you the chile and tell you to chew it with the nut. Your palate will explode with flavor, and Carlos will flip you another nut chaser. Red Number One… Male Green… before you know it you will forget your favorite and start tasting all over again, getting a little history lesson and a few recipe ideas each time.

About the Chimayo Chile Man

Carlos and his sister Sharon Medina Candelario will greet you with big bright smiles as you enter their patio filled with age old artifacts, beautiful artwork, and tasty aromas. They are both talented tinsmiths. They will welcome you with a warm heart, and give you an intriguing history lesson behind any piece you inquire about.

The familia Medina settled in Chimayo sometime in the 1570′s. Yes, that’s fifteen seventy something! And evidence of their history can be seen throughout Chimayo, from street names to ancient graves in the Santo Niño Chapel plaza.

Charles himself seems to embody 500 plus years of wisdom. Our goal was to capture some of his philosophy on video, but he respectfully declined. We made him promise to let us document his chile ritual on camera next time. But this time, I was frantically scribbling notes after touring the Medina gallery with Carlos as our host for nearly two hours…

“To enjoy life, take your time. Those in a hurry can never fully enjoy life.”
— Carlos Medina

Words of Wisdom from Carlos Medina

“Some people put on the wrong attitude when told of bad news,” says Carlos Medina. “There is no reason in life to be sad, mad, or angry. These are three sisters – not daughters of God. Allow one to enter and she will invite the others and throw a party.”

So how to keep the sisters at bay, I asked. “Smile,” he simply said. “But to distribute the power of the smile one must laugh.”

“We must forgive,” Carlos added. “Throughout life, we walk toward the light and leave the shadows behind. We cannot dwell in the darkness.” As an example, he shares, “When you go to bed, ask God to help you forgive those who may have upset you. Then, ask for forgiveness yourself.” He adds, with a  grin, “Because we are not Saints – we are all a little mischievous.”

The best way to enjoy life, according to Carlos? Take your time. “Those in a hurry can never fully enjoy life.”

About religion, he says, “You do not need to believe in God. You need to believe God.” Carlos Adds, “God speaks to all of us from within – we must listen to God within ourselves.”

About prayer, Carlos suggests, “At the end of each day, say out loud [with a heavy drawn out breath] ‘Wealth‘… it is good to provide for those you love, or to be able to help others do the same.” He gives the example of paying someone to build a fence, then adds, “then say to yourself out loud, [again with a heavy drawn out breath] ‘Health‘… for you cannot have one without the other.” He then asks, “What good is it to be rich, and too sick to enjoy it?”

Sharon shared with us her own words of wisdom for being “successful” in life. “Society tells us we must go to school, get a good job, and make lots of money to succeed,” she said while etching a tin cross under the new Mexico sun. But she took Charles’ advice to “Follow your heart.” With a Master’s degree, after working in social work for four years, Sharon followed her heart and now she couldn’t be happier with her lifestyle creating jewelry and artwork outside in the plaza at Chimayo.

Our new annual pilgrimage

Just as tens of thousands of the Faithful flock to el Santuario de Chimayo every Easter – many after walking miles with large crosses on their backs – we too might just be making an annual pilgrimage to Medina’s. But it will have to be during the week. Upon leaving, Carlos shared with us his final words of wisdom – He doesn’t work Saturdays.

Allen’s Fried Chicken and Luckenbach are the only other two places we have specifically returned to after traveling the whole country, aside from visiting family. Now we just need to get back to Pawlet, Vermont for that Roy Egg rooster head we should have bought when we had the chance.

There is simply not enough time to enjoy all the barbecue goodness Texas has to offer. From the big cities and fast highways to every sleepy little town and winding FM (Farm to Market) road, the savory smell of smoking meat can be enjoyed as it radiates from rickety shacks and strip malls alike. It even overpowers the ever present aroma of Texas oil country.

Last year in Luckenbach, René promised me a dinner at Hondo’s in Fredericksburg. This year, she kept her promise. Hondo’s is an informal, self-serve restaurant with a menu sure to please any discriminating taste, and yes, they have BBQ. Place your order and have a seat on the shaded patio sipping a cool tea until your pager blinks. We might have sat inside and stuck around for the live Music if we weren’t taking a break from the Hat Festival.

After seriously considering the brisket, I opted for the special – “a generous portion of whatever David’s been smokin’ all day” – and was informed that the 2 lbs of ribs came just like that, just ribs. So I added some fried onion strings, and was reassured by a sincere “Mmmmmm…” from the woman taking our order.

I traded a bunch of crispy strings for for some of René’s succulent grilled Mahi Mahi salad. There was no way I could eat so many ribs without some fresh greens. And fresh they were.

I would have certainly hurt myself even trying to finish the big ol’ basket of ribs, so leftovers were in order. With some grits and greens topped with remaining onion strings, I got tasty BBQ two days in a row – bonus!

After passing far too many BBQ joints – with names like Fat Boy’s and Bubba’s BBQ – over the next couple weeks, we found another gastronomical treasure at Pop’s Pit in Brookshire, Texas. Pop’s is old school BBQ at it’s best, but these days you’ll even find traditional places like Pop’s Pit on Facebook!

Pop’s Pit is home of the Heart Attack sandwich, chopped beef and sausage. But after ordering the ribs, I spotted the brisket sitting on the counter. It comes sliced or chopped, on a bun or in a bowl, and it looked – and smelled – too good to pass up. I opted for the sliced beef sandwich, and got a funny look when clarifying our side order of beans and slaw. After all, René had just ordered the Suicide Spud wit the same sides, to split. “She’s gonna eat all that?” the woman asked. “No” I said with a grin, we were splitting the side dishes. “I’s gonna say…” was her only reply as she turned to shout our order to whom I presume had to be Pop.

The woman’s reaction was clearly understandable once our food was ready in the walk up window. Another bonus for me: the sausage and chopped beef that comes with the monster baked potato smothered in melted butter and sour cream. The beef was tender and tasty, but leftovers were once again in order. The smoked sausage scrambled up with eggs the next day made for another one of those memorable all day breakfasts.

The final bonus at Pop’s was that we got dinner and a show! Shortly after sitting down at the shaded picnic table with our mess ‘o food, police cars started zipping by with sirens blaring. Then they went the other way, and back again. A parade was about to begin. As I sat licking my fingers, feeling satisfied, and finishing René’s iced tea, she ran off with the camera to capture the colorful Cinco De Mayo celebration passing by.

As paramedics brought up the rear, I felt safe knowing help was nearby if I decided to eat just one more piece of sausage. Allen’s, here we come!

One last word about Slab City*: Freedom

My final answer to those who may question a stop at Slab City based solely on it’s outward appearance is that the whole scene is all about the people, and the freedom they choose to experience – and share – with others.

Boondocking on the Slabs is free, in many more ways than cost. You can’t beat the price, but then it’s free of any services whatsoever too. Life on the Slabs is free of that sense of urgency which has polluted society. It is free of any rules, really, and it’s the people who are truly free.

One could easily drop out of society with residence at Slab City, as I’m sure many have. But we’ve never felt unsafe At the Slabs, and we have met some very fun and interesting folks.

Freedom can be seen in the smiles of anyone at The Range on a Saturday night. Genuine happy faces and permagrins alike share the good vibes and great music. While minding their own business, each person we meet there is always welcoming and warmhearted.

Chance from Airracket sums it up best …

yeah freedom, i’m free to love you.
i’m free to care for you.
i’m free to fly …

Watch the video for our neighbor Dakota who frequently took flight in his self-propelled parasail. He succinctly summarized his own freedom when he answered our question of where he was headed next with, “Wherever the wind takes me.”

We’re thinking the wind wants to blow us North soon to check in at Jerry’s Acres, but Crystal Lakes received another foot of snow last time we checked. So, there’s no rush to get “home” and we are free to take our time. Freedom is a good thing.

A big shout out to Chance for his mind-bending guitar work and lyrics. He’s got some great sounds and will always get ya thinkin’ … Freedom has always been a personal favorite, thanks.

* Until next year.

Once the weather finally warmed up here in the Southwest, time seemed to speed up as quickly as the fat grew around our waistlines from all of the good eats and tasty Shiner beer we’re consuming (we are in Texas after all!).

Our road trip adventures are happening faster than we can write about them, and as much as we don’t want this blog to be a “this-is-what-I-did-today” journal, for the sake of catching up, here’s a quick recap of a few of our favorite stops:

The Pepper Pot, Hatch New Mexico

Hatch is nothing more than a wide spot in the road, but it’s got a worldwide rep for being the green chile capital of the world. When we heard that Anthony Bourdain once said that he had the best red enchiladas of his life at the Pepper Pot, we had to find out if it was true.

Bourdain was right. The Pepper Pot’s menu was the finest of traditional New Mexican cuisine, and I’ve never had a better green or red sauce than theirs (with the exception of my Mom’s, of course!). The aromas and flavors were a smooth, smoky blend of New Mexico’s finest chilies, the staff was friendly, and this massive lunch was just $25 for the two of us.

The Texas Hill Country

There’s an unexpected beauty to the Hill Country region that’s drawn our rig back since 2008. This year the countryside was especially green and lush, with incredible spring flowers and overflowing creeks and rivers.

We love Texas so much that next time a pile of money falls from the sky, we’ll buy a small piece of Hill Country land to winter on. The food can’t be beat, the people are friendly and open, and most aren’t afraid to express their opinions. Texans tell it like they see it, which even when I don’t agree with it, I can appreciate.

Luckenbach

Still, we love Texas but we’re not sure if Texas loves us. Last year the trailer got stuck in the mud at Luckenbach. This year, a flash flood almost took our rig on the Guadalupe. After that near-death experience, once again, our truck almost drowned in the slippery, deep mud of the Luckenbach parking lot.

But it was totally worth it.

Come hell or high water, nothing was going to keep the good people of Luckenbach from holding the first annual Texas Hat Festival.

If anyone knows about hats, it’s Texans. The Luckenbach Hat Festival was all things hats, with a ton of incredible Texas bands, vendors, games and contests.

Like the ugly hat contest I entered. I didn’t win, but at least I can say I got my fifteen seconds of fame, on stage at Luckenbach. I also got a pretty nifty cowgirl hat for just twenty bucks, then ended up wining one later from an event sponsor!

Staying in the Hill Country hasn’t been cheap. Texas doesn’t believe in free public lands or have a whole lot of national forests, so we haven’t boondocked since New Mexico. While it’s been a luxury hooking up to the grid for the last few weeks, RV parks are spendy, costing no less than $27 a night. While there’s deals to be found, like the “By the River” campground we almost died at in Kerrville, they are few and far between.

Despite all of our misadventures here and the high cost of RV parks, it’s the Texas music, the diverse scenery, the food and the people that make it all worthwhile.

Of course, there are always exceptions . . .

We’ve always wanted to go RVing in Mexico. I have a long lost cousin in the beautiful small town of Cuernavaca, and I know other RVers who’ve spent long beautiful winters in Mexico. But when the border violence started escalating, we heeded warnings from friends and family and stayed away.

This year we tempted fate, and on a whim headed to Organ Pipe National Monument in Arizona, which is spitting distance from the Mexican border. It’s a beautiful park, much like Big Bend in Texas, but with more plant diversity (in my un-scientific opinion).

Being the low-budget travelers that we are, we camped at a remote free BLM campground outside of the park, and saw this warning as soon as we pulled in.

While we’ve heard rumors about immigration and drug running routes going through this park, we took this sign as more government hype.

That is until about 11 pm on our first night, when we saw a truck speeding through the campground, cruising around, obviously looking for someone.

While there were at least 5 other RVs in the park, it was a little disconcerting to think that really illegal activity was actually going on right outside our trailer. But with the swarms of border patrol agents hanging out in the area, we slept OK.

The next day we went on a long walk out into the desert and saw tons of beautiful plants and flowers. Later in the afternoon, I read about the murder of a prominent Arizona rancher that happened the previous day, about 200 miles from us in Douglas. The rancher’s murder has inflamed the anger of locals in the area who want more security. I can’t blame them.

The was the first border murder on U.S. soil since park ranger Kris Eggle was killed in 2002 while on duty near the park.

At the border town of Lukeville, we saw many RVers coming back from Mexico. I was partly jealous, partly thinking “those guys are NUTS!”

So what I want to know is, just how much of what we hear about the violence in Mexico is exaggerated by the media, and how much is real?

I want to talk to other RVers who’ve gone there in the last year, and find out what their experience was. Traveling south is something we really want to do, and I’m getting antsy to make this trek, possibly next winter.

Anyone with any feedback on recent RV experiences in Mexico, I’d love to hear about it.

People unfamiliar with Slab City are surprised to learn that there’s regular entertainment every weekend.

But on Friday and Saturday nights, you can count on music filling the air when musicians like the family band Drop 7 hit the stage at the Range or the Stage Door.

Sadly, the drummer for Drop 7 and mother of the band, Trish Scott, died suddenly on March 7. She can be seen here in this video we took, just two weeks prior.

Her death came as a terrible shock to all, since she was only 41. When news of her passing spread, our friends Jen and Johnny acted fast and got Slabbers together to successfully raise the money needed for her funeral expenses.

Here’s a video of Trish and Drop 7 during one of their last shows together.

Let’s coin a new phrase, in the original meaning of the term …

I hereby declare Snabbers as Seasonal Snowbird Slabbers – those of us who enjoy the culture of Slab City on a seasonal basis.

As in … “Slab City residents are happy the Snabbers have left.”

Unlike the stereotypical Snowbirds who tend to gate themselves up in their RV caravan roundups, never venturing downtown, Snabbers prefer to immerse themselves in the Slab City experience.

You might even find Snabbers at the hot spring or bathing in a culvert. Though we only partook in the former this year.

And unlike self-proclaimed Slabbers, we Snabbers retain a certain self respect rare among certain full time residents of the Slabs.

Overheard one day in reference to an old travel trailer in dire need of repair …

“I’m a Slabber! It’s too nice for me.”

Snabbers walk a fine line. While we enjoy meeting the eclectic mix of people that one might find at The Range on a Saturday night, and don’t mind putting up with a little acrid smoke while gathered around a trash can fire to enjoy some funky music act, we do prefer a tasty cocktail over malt liquor, and hot grilled eggplant over cold Spam out of a can. We also like regular showers in the privacy of our own RV and a clean shirt every few days.

Snabbing isn’t for everyone. But at least one night on the Slabs should be required of any true full-timer. Make it a Saturday next season, and we’ll meet you at The Range.

Dare I digress and ask who coined the phrase, “to coin a phrase”? See that first link if you’re really interested. Or, if someone asks this piece of useless trivia at a dinner party, just tell them it predates printing and moveable type if that’s what they suggest. Way back in the 14 century, money was apparently coined by wedge-shaped dies called “coins” used to stamp the metal blanks which came to be called coins.

Considering money is something you will find very little of at the Slabs, I find this relevant. As is this coining quote typical of its early use in the mid 2oth century …

“It takes all sorts to make a world, to coin a phrase.”
— From Francis Brett Young’s novel Mr. Lucton’s Freedom, 1940

Indeed it does. Especially at Slab City.

The cold desert winds here at Anza Borrego Park in Southern California are making us stir crazy and insane, but we’re sticking around until our mail arrives by general delivery at the post office.

We also want to visit the Borrego Springs Friday Farmer’s Market one more time.

The local farmers have the most luscious selection of produce, including this weird, local Cherimoya fruit that I’ve never seen before (which is odd because I’m a SoCal native!). I think I’ll crack open my wallet and try it. It must be good if it’s that spendy, right? 

I also want to stock up on the local Fuerte avocados. They only appear in wintertime, and you can’t get them anywhere else because they don’t ship well. You’ve never had a great avocado until you’ve had a Fuerte.

If there’s one thing I miss about SoCal besides my family, it’s the buttery, yummy flavor of the Fuerte. My parents have a tree in their L.A. yard that blossoms during wintertime. Growing up, I had enough guacamole to bathe in.

Jim, meanwhile, is having fantasies about the locally grown tri-tip he saw last week. Maybe he can share it with Wyatt. Anyone else care to indulge in carnivore ecstasy, feel free to stop by.

We’ve been in Southern California longer than we anticipated, but even I, a recovering Angeleno, will admit that the  south end of the state has great winter weather and the best produce in America.

Borrego Springs is a funky, neat little town. I told Jim that maybe we should consider buying a cheap piece of land here to winter in. But then he reminded me; this is California. Nothing’s cheap. And with Moonbeam running for governor, the State’s really in trouble now! We’d better get out soon before we get taxed for breathing.

Slab City: love it or hate it.

Lovers are tolerant individuals who respect the many different lifestyle choices here. Haters just can’t seem to turn away from the trash heaps and shiftless drifters, and usually depart within 24 hours.

One might assume that Slab City Lovers are younger folks on the fringes of society, but as our neighbor Bernie demonstrates, that just ain’t so.

Bernie and his wife are snowbirds, spending summers in Washington and winters here at the Slabs.

He built this RV himself, handles all of his own rig maintenance, and is building a new cottage by hand back in Washington. A former HVAC repair man, he spends his afternoons lounging and riding his ATV around the desert. He and his wife have been vegan for the last 40 years.

Bernie is 80 years old. His wife is 75. They’re just one example of the many reasons why we love staying at kooky places like Slab City.

Because you just never know who’s going to rock your world here, like Don the musician.