live. work. dream.

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.

Wanted: Chief librarian for Slab City Lizard Tree Library. Must be literate, love books, the desert climate, live in own RV and enjoy colorful characters of all types. Pay is non-existent but the fulfillment of running this institution is something money can’t buy. Job starts today.

What began as a final trip to the Slab City Library yesterday has turned into a devastating discovery. This one-of-a-kind institution is on the verge of collapse.

Sunday afternoon I arrived with some DVDs to donate, only to find piles of books thrown around, and an angry look on the face of Ron, the chief librarian. All of the doors to the place had also been removed, the sign had disappeared from the parking lot, and the book donation shelves were gone. He even took our Internut access away.

I was stunned, and asked Ron, “Uh, what happened to the shelves?”

His eyes were filled with rage as he said “I’m sick of picking up after people and their dog shit! I’ve had it! If they want to trash this place they can have it!”

I asked “But….what’s going to happen here?”

Ron said, “It’s a self-serve library from now on. People can take care of it themselves. I’m done!” and he stormed out.

Three years ago, Ron arrived just after the founder of the library died. He was enthusiastic about keeping it going, and moved in next door. He took the wheels off his motorhome, set up an encampment, and went about the business of becoming chief librarian. He’s done an incredible job. Every time I went there, new books had been shelved, more fun knicknacks appeared and the floor was always clean.

But apparently the slobs around here made him snap. Or maybe it the 120 degree summertime temperatures. But last week he threw up his hands and surrendered. Now, this treasure is at risk of becoming just another trash heap in the last free place in America.

I’m so devastated, it kept me awake last night. I love libraries, and this is a rare find in America. It’s killing me that we’re supposed to leave for Anza Borrego tomorrow.

Today I made the “Save the Libaray!” sign and posted it inside, hoping that more people might care enough to stop taking the library for granted. Maybe we can change Ron’s mind about quitting.

I guess I’ll have to wait until next year to find out what happens next.

And if nobody wants the job, I just might apply when we return.

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.

We hit the road yesterday for the first time since early December. And as with all first days on the road, things didn’t go quite as smoothly as we would have liked. We are definitely rusty.

First, we missed our exit to the Slabs, and almost ended up in Quartzsite. Drove about 25 miles out of our way.

Next, when we were in search of water, we took a wrong turn and drove another 10 miles in the opposite direction. The small road we were on was so flooded from the recent rains, we couldn’t find a dry enough place to turn around.

Once we got to the Slabs, I opened up our door, and saw hummus everywhere. Good thing the flour didn’t spill too!

As I proceeded to clean up the mess, Jim tried to turn on the Motosat dish. Guess what? That pain in the ass dish is acting up again, and won’t go up. Thank Dog we have Internet redundancy with our MiFi setup. If we couldn’t get online to manage Tripawds, we would be on our way to the nearest service shop. Apparently our F2 motor is dead . . . again.

All this, during our first day back on the road. In the past, I might have fallen apart at so many mishaps in one day. Because when you’re new on the road, multiple screw ups in one day happen a lot, and they can be upsetting. At least to me they were. Jim’s always been a little better about not letting them get him down.

But after almost three years on the road, I’m happy to say that we are both able to handle these things with a smile.

A few cocktails also work wonders.  Good thing we’re stocked up.

Our time in L.A. is nearing an end. Over forty days of living in the big city, and we’re getting homesick for our rig. It sits outside under a tree, and the birds are having a party on our roof. It’s time to get the rig out from under the shade, and under a blazing desert sky, where it belongs.

Any time we spend in cities is reassurance that we did the right thing by choosing to live like hillbillies.

We drove on the freeway, and it took us nearly two hours to travel 29 miles. Things are too fast, too crowded and just too much for us.

We’ve had a good visit with the family. Also met some world-renowned canine health professionals and interviewed them for Tripawds. And last week, ate at two of the best Asian restaurants we’ve been to in a while. Both are located in the San Gabriel Valley, where my parents live. These dining experiences reminded us that living in the city isn’t all bad.

Happy Harbor in Rowland Heights served up the best dim sum we’ve had since San Francisco. We also ate at a funky little 40 year old sushi joint in the Hacienda Heights ghetto, Akasaka.

We haven’t had sushi in over a year. We just have a thing about eating sushi anywhere other than the coast. It’s just wrong, and to us, the freshest sushi you can get is definitely worth the wait.

The plan is to leave here on Sunday, after the rains end. We’ll head straight for Slab City, where we a warm desert is waiting for us, with dark night skies and solitude.

Angelenos are getting all worked up over the rain that’s been falling on Southern California. Yesterday, a tornado warning was announced, and minutes later a small “tornadic-like” formation touched down and blew over a car. The hills are sliding and freeways are a mess. Parents are keeping their kids home from school.

Even though this kind of weather action is mild in comparison to our old stomping grounds of rainy, wet Humboldt County, we’re still glad to be staying in a stick house while riding this episode out.

The Los Angeles area hasn’t seen rain since Christmas. I was hoping we wouldn’t see any bad weather this winter, but it is January after all. When the rain started falling, I had to dig our rain jackets out of storage in the RV. Even funnel clouds and heavy rain won’t stop us from going outside every day. That’s because Wyatt Ray just won’t cut us any slack. If our one year-old puppy doesn’t get three walks a day, he will eat the furniture. Morning, noon and night, he begs to go outside for a walk, and we comply. Dogs are great at getting you to break away from work and into the great outdoors.

One morning, as Wyatt led me on a walk during a heavy downpour, my soaking wet clothes were an unpleasant reminder that the Gore-tex water-resistance on my gear is fading away.

Gear lust started whispering in my ear again; I want . . . I want . . . I want. . .

Time to start looking for something else, like maybe a new Berghaus jacket?

Our friend Dave Berman recently called us “Advocacy Journalists” when describing what we’re doing to raise awareness about canine cancer with our three legged dog movies.

I consider this an honor since Dave taught me the term and was the first advocacy journalist I ever met … until that is, we caught up with Flux Rostrum and Skinny Chef in the Mobile Broadcast News bus.

It was a treat to see these two real videographers in action at Slab City. Partying with them and golfing at Gopher Flats was pretty fun too!

But for those of you who don’t necessarily tune into our video channel on a regular basis, here’s our take on the Slabs.

I wouldn’t necessarily call it journalism, but the playlist below does include five videos documenting slab City culture – from a drive by and a fly over to the Niland Tomato Festival parade, art cars and Salvation Mountain. Enjoy!

Paying it forward …

Our generous friends CoffeeSister and RhodesTer will be happy to know the Verizon wireless PC card they insisted we take has found a good home. We donated it to the Mobile Broadcast News crew to support their efforts of raising awareness and hell online through indie media. We were unable, however, to get a receipt from them for the tax deduction. I guess the good karma will have to suffice.

I’ve been thinking we would catch up on writing about our adventures over the past couple months for a couple months now.

We were in Los Angeles a while, but had plenty of family and holidays to distract us. Then we were boondocking on the Slabs, and well, that’s Slab City for you. We’ve also been meeting up with lots of cool people. Then there was the whole Nature thing, and off to Big Bend, but plenty of distraction time there. Not to mention the Cowboy Poetry Festival! Next we had the NüRVers get-together for a few too many hangover days. Stay tuned for details, we promise.

But now we’re settled in for our first pre-paid full month in one spot. Hopefully the lure of New Braunfels and the Comal River won’t keep us too preoccupied to tell y’all what we’ve really been up to. With that said, there’s something that’s been bugging me …

I’ll never understand how certain outdoorsy types choose to enjoy our natural resources by destroying them. All across America I’ve always noticed the detritus of litter bugs, and done my best to pick up after them. But when we were dry camping in the Mojave we picked up more of other people’s trash on just two hikes than I would have ever dreamed possible.

I hate to stereotype folks, but the vast majority of visitors to Jawbone Canyon are the OHV type. They tear up the hills and dunes on trail bikes and quads, which sound like it could be quite fun in it’s own right. But why must they leave such a mess behind?

Please give a hoot. Don’t pollute. We’ve only got room for so much trash in our rig.

While we’re on the subject, here’s an ironic thing we noticed while dry camping out in the Mojave near a huge wind farm under construction.

We watched in awe as immense turbine blades passed by in convoys of three … followed by dozens of workers, each in their individual cars.

You’d think renewable energy developers might implement some sort of transit for workers who travel 100 miles to the job site.

After leaving Slab City, it was a revelation to think that we’d been back in California since November. I couldn’t believe we’d been there for so long. But when you come from a big Mexican family like I do, it takes about that long to make the rounds and see everyone!

We blew through Arizona, because familiarity breeds contempt. I used to live there in the early ’90s, and I don’t know what it is about the Grand Canyon State, but I just don’t like it. Maybe that’s because when my Dad lived in Jerome (about 100 miles north of Phoenix) in the 1930s, he was forced to attend a segregated “Mexicans only” school while my grandfather worked as a miner.

Headed east, we stopped in Douglas, Arizona along the Mexican border. On a whim, we parked our rig at the border crossing and walked into Mexico, just to be able to say we’ve now been to three countries in our rig.

The contrast between the U.S. side and the Mexican side is obvious. On our side, there’s shiny new strip malls and Wallyworld. On their side, just a half mile away, there are potholed streets and zero evidence of building codes.

We walked around, got some great pan dulces and a jugo de pina. Took some photos and felt sorry for some skinny Mexican dogs. Then we turned around, and walked back over. Just. Like. That. Our five dollar Mexican vacation was over in a couple of hours.

Upon our return, I thought about how my family set down U.S. roots in the 1930s. Both sets of my Grandparents hopped the fence before “illegal immigration” was an issue. All they wanted was for their kids to have a better life, and we’ve managed to accomplish that, and then some.

Three generations later, there I was, returning to the Other Side like it was no big deal. That’s America for you.

Before our Slab City experience we met up with the Vickers, who spend the Winter months far away from the icy cold of their Colorado ranch at Rancho Casa Blanca RV Resort in Indio, CA. We were passing through to catch Willie Nelson at Morongo Casino just a stone’s throw away … literally – Larry and Paulette picked us up from the parking lot where we were boondocking in their golf cart.

We reminisced about our summer workamping at the ranch, sipped cocktails, went swimming at one of their various club house pools, and enjoyed a quick nine holes of golf on the putting course outside their rig’s door. This pristine RV resort also boasts a full 18 hole course complete with hazards that include sand traps, a lake, and park model windows. But the manicured grass and level greens of Rancho Casa Blanca pale in comparison to the links at Gopher Flats in Slab City.

Winter Rules always apply at Gopher Flats Country Club. This may sound surprising when you consider winter probably lasts less than a week here on the slabs near Niland, CA. But one look around will explain why “preferred lies” are accepted on this course.

This is a simple way of saying that golfers may improve their lies in certain areas of the course. But at Gopher Flats it means two things: 1. Players can feel free to re-place their ball if hindered by say, a sage brush or broken beer bottle, and 2. Blatant lies about one’s score are not just accepted, but expected.

Gopher Flats is a Bob Unden signature course. Designed and created by Bob and Nancy Unden, the course makes fine use of the barren terrain. If you can find it, you will notice each hole has a tee with the distance clearly marked.

Flags are in place on the browns – you really can’t call them greens – and the cups are 8″ wide, which makes up for the bumpy rock hardpan. But that’s why you’ll also find a piece of carpet on a rope near each flag. Players are required to smooth the “greens” or pay the consequences if they don’t.

A few details make Gopher Flats shine above other RV golf resorts. For starters, the greens fees: Free! Yes, Gopher Flats is free, and open to the public 24/7 every day of the year. And not only scorecards and pencils are provided. Players have access to a wide selection of clubs at their disposal.

Sure, some of these club should have been disposed of long ago but what do you want for nothing? There are three bags, drivers and irons of all sizes, wedges and putters, both right and left handed. An ample supply of balls is also for the taking.

Every hole at Gopher Flats is a par 3, but when René and I played nine she shot a 59 to my 44. Do the math, and keep in mind that bit about preferred lies.

Later when we attempted an afternoon foursome with Flux and SkinnyChef, we only got through half of nine before calling it quits.

Perhaps it was the pending sunset with us a half mile from home in the middle of the desert, or perhpas it was all the Early Times, but a fun time was had by all nonetheless.

What makes Gopher Flats a must-play for any RV golfer, however, isn’t just the views, free equipment, or the beetle colonies living in the cups. It’s the fact that you can play with a front row seat to the U.S. Navy’s Chocolate Mountain bombing range.

Military helicopters can frequently be seen buzzing overhead and heard firing their big guns. Not knowing when the next fighter jet might fly by or another ground-thumping explosion might come in the distance adds excitment to every hole. And very rarely has anyone ever stumbled upon an unexploded ordnance.