For starters, it’s more important to keep the critters out than worry about keeping the water heater from freezing.

To summarize, the summerization of our rig entailed little more than:

• Plugging in, to keep the batteries charged.
• Emptying grey/black tanks and rinsing  them well.
• Removing all food items.
• Cleaning out fridge and turning it off.
• Covering the wheels to shade tires from sun.

After driving around for about a week I looked at the dust gathering on our hitch and decided it wise to summerize that too. After all we weren’t headed anywhere for a few months at least. As a side note, I’d prefer to remove it, but Rene has a point or two. It is heavy. And should we need to evacuate in a hurry, being able to quickly take our second home with us would be a good thing. But there i go digressing.

I love our hitch, enough to take good care of it. To prepare it for not being used, I took the following steps to tuck it in for the summer:

• Cleaned off all dust, grime and grease.
• Re-greased the slide tubes, both the top and inside of shafts.
• Released tension from catch spring.*
• Covered with plastic. (I used an old vinyl BBQ cover Rene had made since we have a shed now!)

*NOTE TO SELF: Remember this before hitching up in the fall!

It dawns on me now, that I never shared just how much I really do love our Pullrite Superglide fifth wheel hitch. And no, that’s not even an affiliate link! One of the biggest determining factors for me when it comes to complete product satisfaction is customer service. Pulliam gets an “A” in my book.

To make an already long story short… After a couple years on the road, we noticed out hitch had a lot of play in it and didn’t sit level. The top plate slanted so René often had to hold flat as I backed it into the trailer kingpin. This got old quick. Then I noticed what looked like piece of a small leaf spring in our truck bed one day.

While searching for our Colorado property last year, we paid a visit to RV America in Loveland. Upon looking at our hitch, the parts manager was very concerned and suggested we call the local Pullrite sales rep.

To make an even longer story a little but shorter… he agreed to meet us at the shop and have a look.

One look was all it took. Though it could have been serviced, he offered to replace the complete top portion of our hitch. Not just the receiver plate, but the whole rocker arm assembly too. No charge. Better yet, the kind folks at RV America agreed to install it free of charge. We left with a brand new hitch and a better understanding about how to disassemble it should the need arise in the future.

Upon inspection of our Superglide’s way tubes, the Pullrite rep asked about how and when I grease them. After explaining, he commended me for the good job, commenting on how they were in good shape for what we’ve put them through. I fully intend to keep it up so this love affair with our hitch lasts a long, long time.

NOTE: We use white lithium grease to lubricate the way tubes on our Superglide hitch, but Pullrite also recommends a graphite spray which we will be trying next season. Buying a can was the least we could do after getting a virtually new hitch from RV America!

No, I’m not talking about the economy down south that’s heading even further south. I’m not talking about soiled birds and destroyed estuaries, nor the rising cost of Gulf shrimp. I’m talking about a matter of semantics.

Yes, all of the above is truly upsetting, but it’s what everyone is calling the cause that really turns my stomach.

Call it a disaster, call it a calamity, call it a gaping whole in the earth’s crust. Call it human error with dire circumstances or call it the beginning of the end of the world, but please… stop calling it an oil spill.

A “spill” implies something finite. The Exxon Valdez running aground caused an oil spill. And while that was – for lack of a better term – a lot of oil, it was an amount limited to what the ship could hold. As much damage as that did, it was manageable. What we have in the Gulf now is not a spill. It is a veritable infinite amount of oil gushing from the ocean floor with no stopping it in sight.

Calling the Deepwater Horizon catastrophe a spill seriously downplays its ramifications. Consequences of which we will not know the true nature for years to come. Thank you. We now return to our regular programming now in progress.

[steps off soapbox]

Who are Casiokids you ask? Only one of the best bands we saw last year at South By Southwest in Austin! What a thrill to know that we saw this quirky, 80′s-style Norwegian techno group when they were unknowns here in the U.S., playing in a parking lot where they had to throw free beer into the audience to get people to show up.

Ok, gotta admit, the free beer is why we stayed to check ‘em out. But it worked! They left an impression on us, and we’re so glad to see they’re about to make it big here in the states.

Download their free MP3 and you’ll see why we loved them. Buy their vinyl album (or MP3s or CDs). Tell a friend. And remember, we saw them when they were nobody!

Click here to view the embedded video.

The whole idea of tying up an animal or wrestling him to the ground for sport always just seemed appalling to me.

I had never actually seen a rodeo in person before, but all these years took PETA on its word that  “rodeos are nothing more than manipulative displays of human domination over animals, thinly disguised as entertainment.”

Skill or Stupidity? You Decide.

When we were in Sweetwater, we happened to camp out at the fairgrounds the same weekend the West Texas Rodeo Association was in town. For just the price of our campsite, we had the option of checking out two days worth of events, free. Jim assumed I would want to leave, or at least organize a protest. But something compelled me to check it out. Being a cheapskate I figured I had nothing to lose if I found it as horrible as I always heard it would be. At least I would know PETA wasn’t exaggerating. After all these years, this veggie-burger eatin’, sprout growin’ hippie was going to judge rodeos for herself, I thought.

We watched all sorts of amateur rodeo competitions, like chute dogging, where a contestant (always male, wonder why?) jumps into the steer’s chute and when the gates are opened, hangs on by the horns while the steer runs down the field and then the guy attempts to wrestle the animal to the ground within 30 seconds.

There was also goat tying, where brawny farm girls wearing feed caps ride into the stadium on a horse, dismount, then try to throw down and tie up a tethered goat as fast as possible.

Now, call me crazy, but I think it’s pretty unfair to prod a steer to run down a field, then twist his head nearly 360 degrees around until it falls down and call it sport. Or run after a terrified baby goat that’s screaming to get away, because he knows exactly what’s coming.

On the other hand, I also learned that other competitions like barrel racing or team roping were far more reflective of true skill. Team roping is when two contestants ride alongside a steer and one tries to throw a lasso around a horn while the other goes after the steer’s rear leg with a lasso. You try throwing a lasso at a moving target and see how easy it is. I know I can’t.

Respect All Life, Silly Cowpokes!

Clearly, in the bygone days of the Old West, many of these exercises were of a way of life for cowpokes on the ranch. These competitions weren’t just games, they were a necessary part of making a living. Seeing amateur rodeo gave me a tiny glimpse into that world, and for that reason I was glad I went.

I didn’t see any evidence of livestock mistreatment, but apparently PETA has lots of footage of rodeo animal abuse, and it’s rampant in big money competitions.

Still, so much of what I saw billed as “competition” was just mean, violent and unfair to the animals. I can only hope that in a world where many of us recognize the value in making cats and dogs part of our families, more people will adopt these same compassionate attitudes toward all creatures great and small, not just the ones we consider “pets.”

Judging by the few spectators at the Sweetwater rodeo, this might actually be happening. One can always hope, anyways.

After nearly three years on the road, it’s strange settling back in here at Jerry’s Acres knowing that we’ll be here until it’s time to head south again next winter. We were only here a couple months before hitting the road again last season, and having returned I suppose we are officially Snowbirds now, or Snabbers rather.

Though I thought Snowbirds were supposed to travel away from the snow! It was snowing when we left last October, and as I look out the window now it seems we are living in a snow globe, and someone is shaking it really hard. Just a couple weeks ago we were sweating it out down in Texas – running the A/C all day, thinking it was time to head “home” … now we wondering when we might be able to stop wearing multiple layers!

The good news is, I must have done something right with my directions for how to winterize a mountain home.

After doing our best not to fear the worst for the past few months, we returned to a clean house, perfectly intact, where everything came back online without any problems. No broken windows, no burst pipes, no critters trapped inside, no worries. We were even prepared to spend a few nights in the RV, having no idea what to expect upon our return. But considering this crazy weather, I’m certainly glad to be inside, next to the fire.

Bonus: My motorcycle even fired right up after sitting stored over the winter. Before we left, I had added some Stabil to the gas tank and turned off the fuel line, letting it run dry. I disconnected the battery, wrapped the bike in moving blankets and forgot about it. Then, a couple months ago I got to wondering, “Can the water in batteries freeze?” Well, apparently not, at least not this time.

Best of all, we had a welcoming party greet us upon our return. The day after we got back, René spotted a moose walking down the road past our house. The next day, we saw two moose cows and a calf – the same one we saw last year I believe – crossing our property while out for a walk. And earlier today we had a nice little training session with Wyatt learning not to bark at deer right outside the window.

It’s good to be “home” … but don’t worry, we have lots of stories to catch up on from our not so recent adventures. And before we know it the time will come to head back out on the open road in our home sweet home on wheels!

In the early 90s, Jim and I were riding our motorcycles in the Bay Area when we met Nancy, an 80 year-old woman who was riding a Gold Wing.

I was dumbfounded that a woman her age was on a bike, but then she told me she used to be a World War II Ferry Pilot, which made motorcycling look like child’s play. As one of the few women bikers at the time, I felt an instant kinship with her.

To this day, her courageous spirit still influences my life, even on our trip across Texas.

Flying Across Texas Into WASP History

In World War II, while the men-folk were off fighting the war, a small group of gutsy women were recruited by the US Air Force to fly military planes from factories to air bases. They also towed targets on the back of these planes while male fighter pilots practiced firing at them with live ammunition!

About 2,000 WASPS trained at the Sweetwater, Texas airport and just over 1,000 women graduated as the first non-combat US military pilots, known as “WASPS” (Women Airforce Service Pilots). As non-combat pilots, these women freed up male pilots from “drudge work” so they could fight on the frontlines.

Nancy was one of these courageous gals. Even after the program was disbanded at the end of the war, she continued flying until one day when she decided to fly a small plane underneath the Golden Gate Bridge!  That’s when she was banned forever from flying. So instead she hopped on a bike and continued riding for decades.

A recent story about the WASPs on NPR reminded me of her. That’s when I also learned that the official WASP museum is located in Sweetwater, Texas, which happened to be on this year’s “Eating Across Texas” route. Jim and I were headed there to do another round of home cookin’ at Allen’s Fried Chicken, and once I heard the NPR story, I put the museum on our itinerary.

The WASP Museum: Frozen in Time

The WASP museum is housed in the original 1920s-era aircraft hanger where the WASPs trained.

Inside, a collection of memorabilia, video and props tells the story of these heroic women who came from all walks of life to train as pilots, for a meagre $150 a month salary.

The program was controversial and had its detractors but these women endured to become the first military pilots in the country.

But because the Air Force hired them as Civil Service employees, the WASPs never received military status or benefits because the war ended before a congressional act could be enacted to give them military recognition.

The WASPs were nearly forgotten in history until the 1970s, when the Navy announced that women would be allowed to fly combat planes. As more military women aspired to and became fighter pilots, the story of their WWII  predecessors was resurrected.

The WASPs Get their Props

Years went by until these courageous women were finally recognized by our government. Just a few months ago the WASPs received the Congressional Gold Medal in Washington.

WASP Pilot Betty Wahl Strohfus, pictured getting her medal, is one of just 300 surviving WASPs.

I don’t know what happened to Nancy, but my memory of our run-in has always stayed dear to my heart. I can’t help but think that much of my good fortune in life comes from that chance encounter I had with such a courageous soul who wasn’t afraid of taking chances. She influenced me more than she’ll ever know.

Seeing the actual spot in Sweetwater where she and so many brave women earned their pilots wings will always serve to inspire myself (and many, many other women) toward more adventure in our lifetimes.

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.

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.

Click here to view the embedded video.

When I first heard about how author Richard Ide logged over a million miles as a long haul trucker while perfecting the fine art of writing, I knew I had to read his book, “3 Aces,” which resulted from those travels.

I guessed that anyone who’s led the life of a trucker, dealt cards in Atlantic City and sold stocks on Wall Street, must have a good story to share. And I was right. Don’t let the vague title or cover art fool you: like a cold Shiner on a hot summer day, 3 Aces is good for the soul.

3 Aces is a road trip story based on the life of Abner, a struggling, lonely trucker suffering from Vietnam-era post traumatic stress disorder, who meets Dawn, a younger, divorced alcoholic leading a dead end life while a young daughter waits back at home. When Dawn and Abner team up as long haul truckers and a three legged dog named Pip hops along for the ride, a captivating story unfolds as they travel the highways and byways of America.

Much like a classic country love song, 3 Aces doesn’t pose as highbrow literature. But like a big haired waitress in a Texas diner, 3 Aces serves up a hearty plate of love, politics, forgiveness, redemption and adventure. There’s a side of politics too, as Ide educates readers about global trade and the economic impact it has on the grueling life of truckers who keep the shelves stocked at your nearest Mega-Lo Mart.

Ide’s story is an easy read, and is escapism at it’s finest. He manages to keep a complex story line going with multi-dimensional characters that never run out of gas. He has a knack for character development and conversation details, and describing the highway scenes of America in such vivid detail you’d swear you traveled down that same road. You’ll especially love how he weaves the colorful language of truckers into the story, sharing colloquialisms like “chicken coop” and “plain blue wrappers” with the uneducated public.

3 Aces is a great road tripping book, and it breaks my heart that few people know about it. That’s because of the fearful state of the publishing industry, which wouldn’t give Ide a deal for his story. So Ide went the self publishing route with 3 Aces. The problem with self publishing however, is that unless you’re a marketing guru and can get the story into the public, it’s very difficult to sell copies. Ide has made every effort to get 3 Aces out there, and can still use all he help he can get in moving it.

So please, buy a copy and read 3 Aces and help get a classic tale into the hands of the masses.

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.