Tin Can Travels

17th – 24th June 2019

We left Ouray after a hearty brunch at the on-site cafe, headed north to the town of Montrose to restock the fridge and then on to our next stop, Black Canyon of the Gunnison National Park. All in all this was a very achievable day’s journey of 50 miles. The park is one of the lesser known National Parks and off the usual beaten track, a fact made obvious by the distinct paucity of rental RVs. It is however a little gem. Known as Colorado’s own mini version of the Grand Canyon, it is a deep, steep and narrow canyon carved through solid bedrock by the Gunnison River, exposing 2 billion year old Precambrian rock. ‘Black’ describes the colour of the walls which, due to its shape, are in shadow for all but the middle of the day. Big Dave hauled us up the hill to the plateau-top of the canyon, guzzling through the small amount of fuel we had left. We had forgotten to fill up in Montrose, but were quietly confident (in a ‘fingers crossed’ sort of way) that we would have enough to get us to the next petrol station on our way out in the morning…surely?

We just had one night planned here, a basic National Park campsite with the sites hidden in amongst the low level trees and shrubs. The deer seemed completely unfazed by the presence of campers and we saw several wandering freely through the area. There were warnings about black bears, but at this time of the year it is the Musk deer that are to be feared, with reports of does attacking people to protect their fawns. Ok.

We filled our afternoon with a hike from camp, along the rim of the canyon to the park visitors centre, then along another trail that headed a short way down into the canyon, then back up again, then hit a linking trail that took us back to camp. This was a very pleasant five miles, very devoid of fellow hikers and gave us some great views of the canyon and river. We arrived home having avoided being savaged by any angry deer with a good few calorie credits under our belt. The evening unfortunately brought with it a cold breeze which cut short the open air portion of our evening and after our BBQ dinner was cooked, we headed in to eat and watch a DVD.

In the morning we headed back down the hill and nervously drove in a fuel efficient way to the next town, and the nearest petrol station. (Of course we got there without drama, but he is such a thirsty beast.) This was the start of our trip along a portion of US 50, a 3000 mile road across the middle of the country from Ocean City, Maryland to West Sacramento, California. Along its way it is mostly single carriageway and passes through hundreds of small old towns, revealing a real cross-section of rural life in USA. Time magazine devoted nearly an entire issue to it in July 1993. There is a portion through Nevada that is called ‘America’s loneliest road’ as it offers up miles and miles and miles of nothing but open road and views. It, and we, were headed in the same direction, so we decided to use it as our trail to follow for a while and see a bit more of the nitty gritty of the world as we rolled on. It did not disappoint.

We found our petrol station in a tiny settlement called Cimarron attached to ‘Jim Newberry’s Store’. It had one old fashioned analogue fuel pump and the shop sold a variety of things from rocks to cigarettes, and many dusty items in between. I had to step over an aged, portly dog who was lying on the welcome mat to get into the shop. He ignored me. Jim was in residence and holding the fort. He could have been anything from 55 to 75, although I suspect younger than he looked. I imagine life is fairly hard in Cimarron, Colorado. He was the third generation of his family to own the store, his grandmother having opened it 79 years ago. She must have been a hardy soul. Full of fuel, we continued east.

Our next stop was only another one hour’s drive from here, a camp on the shores of Blue Mesa Lake in a National Recreation Area. The lake is a reservoir created by a dam in the Gunnison River downstream from the Black Canyon and is a mecca for fisherfolk and other boaties. It was another basic campsite with no trees and a brisk warm wind blowing across the lake. Connectivity was also zilch. No TV, no cell reception and no internet. Being completely off line in a modern world is a bit disconcerting, but good for the soul. I don’t really need to know what’s happening with the UK conservative party leadership battle and the ongoing machinations of Brexit. Or what Donald tweeted today. Total US-Iranian diplomatic meltdown and the threat of nuclear conflict? Not important when you have a pleasant vista across a lovely lake to gaze at. And I definitely didn’t need to know anything that the Facebook algorithms might think that I needed to know. The only pertinent fact that would directly affect us was knowing the weather forecast. In our 48 hours here we, in no particular order:

1.Walked the half mile to the Visitors Centre to check the weather forecast. (Sunny and breezy to continue.) Then walked to the nearby boat ramp and marina facility to check it out. (Amazing, well maintained with toilets, showers, parking for about 100 cars and trailers and putting any NZ facility to utter shame) It also had a bar/restaurant which was sadly closed both days that we were here.

2.Walked down to the lake shore for a ramble. It was very rocky, with one small beach area, but with multiple areas to park and picnic and generally ‘recreate’. The lake which had been at historically low levels last year had had a major top-up from the melt water of this past winter’s massive snow pack, but still looked a distance from full.There were a few boats that had braved the wind and were out fishing.

3.Did a variety of small jobs, played a few games of scrabble (2:0 to Nick) and, wait for it, read some actual books. Nick might have had an afternoon nap, which was entirely justified given the slow pace of the day. Contrary to the weather forecast, it rained for a bit.

After two nights here we rolled on again. This time we had a reasonably long drive by our standards, but it was so quiet and scenic that it flew past without feeling taxing. We had a imperceptibly slow climb from 7,500ft to a 10,100ft pass over a distance of about 70 miles. Big D didn’t even notice. The road descended to a flat valley plateau at 8000ft and the roads became very straight. After a few 90 degree turns we arrived at our next destination, Grand Dunes National Park, or at least to our RV park just down the road from it. The sites were all in a single line, up on a ridge with amazing views of the dunes and the immense flat valley floor.

The dunes were created by the prevailing sou’westerly winds picking up sand particles as they blew across the San Luis Valley until it gets to the Sangre de Cristo mountains, where the sand is heaped up into these spectacular dunes, the tallest in North America. The brisk wind was a constant presence during our stay here and prevented all notions of barbecues, camp fires, awning use, open windows to windward, unguarded bowls of potato chips on picnic tables etc. We gained a bit of relief from the buffeting at about 10.30pm that evening when a very large motor home pulled up in the next space, casting a very welcome wind shadow over us and we slept much better for it. Connectivity was still non existent here.

The sun rose, and we surfaced a mere two hours later to start our day. It was a morning for a breakfast sandwich to fuel us for the hours ahead. (I can’t remember if I have written about the splendour that is The Breakfast Sandwich Maker yet. Perhaps it needs its own post) Our plan was to cycle the 3.5 miles into the park in the morning and then go for a hike. Getting there, down wind, was going to be easy. Coming home, not so much. We hurtled to our destination, joined the short queue of cars to get in to the park and left the bikes tied up near a bored looking dog at the visitors centre. First we walked about a mile to the Medano Creek.

This is the hotspot of the whole place at this time of year. In spring the meltwaters cause the usually dry and very shallow creek to flow again, often with pulses of water that cause little waves, like a downstream bore. People flock here to frolic in the water, equipped for what looks like a day at the beach. Cars discharge picnic packed cool boxes, sun shades, rubber rings, buckets and spades, dogs and excited children. It was mayhem and not at all like your usual dusty desert plateau at 8000ft surrounded by snow capped mountains. The other thing to do from this area was to hike up the dunes, the highest peak being 750ft. The hardy/crazy souls that were tackling this feat looked like ants from where we were. It must have been very heavy going: loose sand underfoot, hot sun overhead and fairly thin air. We opted out and walked up the creek in bare feet instead. The map seemed to suggest that this was passable for about a mile and a half up to another carpark, so we pushed on, leaving the crowds behind. The map was sort of right, but it was a bit sporting in parts where the creek narrowed and got a bit rocky. Eventually we rejoined dry land, put our shoes back on and completed the loop hike back to the visitors centre. The cycle home was a challenge due to the stiff headwind and our inadequate numbers of red blood cells for this altitude. We arrived at our site gasping, sweaty, and in need of a shower. That evening Nick took me out for dinner at the small on-site restaurant. To be generous, it was a very mediocre meal, but at least the beer was cold.

The next day we continued our journey eastwards. The wind had settled a bit, ramping the temperature up by several degrees and it continued to steadily rise as we gradually descended from 8000ft down to to 3000ft during the day’s drive. Today we were leaving the mountains and entering the lesser known flat plains of Eastern Colorado. I had always thought that Colorado was entirely a mountain state, but a huge swathe of it sits in the High Plains, the westernmost portion of the Great Plains, home to all of Kansas, Nebraska, South Dakota and North Dakota, and to portions of Montana, New Mexico, Oklahoma, Wyoming and Texas. In this area Colorado is sparsely populated, hot in summer and cold in winter and mainly given over to agriculture. This seemed mainly to consist of cultivating the land to grow animal feed, harvesting it and then feeding it to to the livestock who were being intensively farmed in stinking shadeless muddy corals. Modern farming seems to have lost the plot.

Our last stop in Colorado was at another State Park on John Martin reservoir, the largest body of water in Colorado. Our campsite was just below the dam of the same name, both named for the US Representative John Martin who in the 1930s advocated for legislation to allow the building of the dam as a flood control measure. He died in 1939, the year construction began. We were hoping that the Corps of Engineers had done a good job and that the dam would hold for the two nights of our stay here.

We navigated here with a good old fashioned paper map as there seemed to be an ongoing complete lack of 3G coverage here, despite getting cell reception back. Our first evening here delivered a spectacular electrical storm with continual rolling thunder for several hours. Luckily this hit after we had managed to cook and eat dinner outside. Each site had a small shelter under which we kept dry for another half hour, watching the. rain slowly douse the campfire before we called it quits and escaped inside.

The next day we explored the area around the reservoir and dam on our bikes. Half the roads were gravel, and it was windy again, but we managed to get 12 miles of cycling done by the time we got back for lunch and a lazy afternoon. That evening was more clement, but far less exciting and we sat out around the fire until dark.

Tomorrow to Kansas.

10-17th June 2019

The mountains of Colorado were a’calling and, as an antidote to the free-wheeling of the first two weeks of the trip, we booked a whole week’s stay in the town of Ouray. Plucked from reasonable obscurity by my chief travel planner, Ouray (pronounced ‘You-ray’ by the locals, but always ‘Hoo-ray’ by my internal dialogue) turned out to be an amazing little town.  Known as the Switzerland of America and with a permanent population of about 4,500 it is situated at about 7,800ft elevation at the southern end of a valley, surrounded by three 13,000ft snow-capped peaks. The only road out to the south being the reasonably scary Red Mountain Pass, also known as the ‘Million Dollar Highway’. This is infamous in these parts, being very tortuous and having significant sections where the steep drop-offs have no guard rails.  (I wonder if that is where it got its name, having only a one million dollar budget that didn’t stretch to essential safety features?) We arrived by the less stressful northern route but all week were impressed/amazed/astounded to see what type and size of vehicles were tackling the pass.

We took a lesser travelled route from Moab to Ouray, using a smaller road to cut across into Colorado. There were a few climbs and descents but nothing too dramatic, and the scenery subtly changed from the desert canyons and expansive plateaus of Utah to the more intimate forests, hills and snow capped peaks of Colorado. 

As the landscape changes with a state border crossing, so do the laws, culture and politics. Colorado is much more liberal and less religious; where Utah has strict alcohol legislation and even state-controlled liquor stores, Colorado has full legalisation of recreational cannabis.  These big differences between states is one of the things that makes travelling through America so interesting. It also makes it more of a miracle that the states are united at all. It is like a very big blended family with a lot of large and clashing personalities. No wonder politics are so complicated here. 

Anyway, back to Ouray. 

Our camp was on the river, about half a mile from town. The river in question was in full angry, snow-melt, torrent mode but was not tipped to break its banks, which was reassuring. It was very loud too so we were glad to have opted for a slightly cheaper site a few rows back from the premium riverside ones.  The whole area was ringed by majestic pine-tree clad cliffs, with snow-capped peaks not too far away.

Camp was connected to town by a riverside walk and had its own small but respected cafe that did breakfasts, and steak dinners at the weekends.  Ouray itself boasts a fantastic, newly renovated, sulpur-free hot-spring pool complex. This has a variety of hot-pools fed by the spring, and also an outdoor heated 8 lane 25m lap pool filled with municipal water. The hot-pools were always fairly busy, but the lap pool strangely empty.  During our week here we had a couple of visits to the pools, knocking off 1km each time in our private lap pool, followed by some time soaking up some mountain sunshine on loungers.  The pools create a bit of a beachy vibe in the town and it was not unusual, but a bit bizarre nonetheless, to see people wandering up the main stream in swim wear, wrapped in towels.  

Another of the Ouray’s assets was a loop hiking trail that circumnavigated the town, following the contours of the hills that surrounded it with several connections back to civilisation along the way. It was only about 7 miles long, but the terrain was steep and tricky for a lot of the way so it took us four hours. Because the town is visible for the majority of the hike it somehow felt less challenging that it actually was, and the rolling thunder and light rain in the past hour gave less cause for concern too. 

The chief outdoor activity of locals and tourist alike in this area is bashing around on off-road trails in an ATV or Jeep.  Many of the higher trails and passes were still shut due to snow, even though it was now the middle of June. There was a lot of snow this past winter, between 200 and 600% above average, depending on whom you spoke to. There still seemed to be a thriving industry in ATV and Jeep tours and rentals, and we were not immune! We decided to rent something fun for a day and do some exploring.

Big Dave could have managed the trail that we did, but it would have been so uncomfortable. His suspension is geared to carrying the 2.5 ton weight of Tin Can, with 8 massive leaf springs. On uneven terrain, without Tin Can, Big D is a bone-rattler of epic proportions and he is not particularly manoeuvrable.  We took possession of our basically brand new Jeep Wrangler one evening, ready for an early start the next morning.  Our route the next day took us along a route called Last Dollar Rd. It is a proper county road rather than a true off-road trail, but you wouldn’t know it to drive it. It had only opened the day previously due to the snow, and was challenging enough for us to be fun without being too scary. We didn’t want to break the Jeep or ourselves. It was about 20 miles long and cut off a big corner of the road that went into the swanky mountain town of Telluride.

This was place that Nick has always wanted to visit ever since he read an article  in 2013 about a bar that was serving a Bloody Mary garnished with a chicken slider on a stick. It was called the ‘Smack Mary’ That sounded just about his idea of cocktail heaven. Unfortunately the bar has since shut and the intoxicating possibility of a boozy drink married so closely with a delicious snack had disappeared. But the dream of visiting Telluride never died. So we bashed across what felt like the the top of the world in our jolly green jeep, far away from any other humans, happy as pigs in the proverbial. 

We had overestimated our journey time somewhat, and arrived in Telluride by 10.15am. Perchance our picnic sandwiches would not be needed.  This is a very well-healed little town with some seriously priced real estate and a collection of celebrity residents; Tom Cruise, Oprah and Kevin Costner are amongst those who have homes here. The liberal side of this part of Colorado was plainly visible in the rainbow flags lining the main street in support of Gay Pride month. A gondola from town takes you up a small mountain and a modest ski-field. This is used by tourists, hikers and mountain bikers in summer and is free at this time of year. We went up, and came down again, had a coffee, mooched up and down the main street and the shops, had a lovely lunch, then drove home via the road. Once back in Ouray we had some time left before we had to return the Jeep so we set off south to see what all the fuss was about regarding the mountain pass road. After about 5 miles of driving up into the pass Nick was a blithering mess as his vertigo had kicked in with a vengeance.  It really was quite scary. Your sensible head says “You will not randomly and without explanation suddenly steer to the right and drive off this cliff to a fiery death of twisted metal”, but the possibility of that happening is only 3 feet away. So whether your brain plays games with you or not, whether you freak out or not, it is rare to do something in life where the dangers are so obviously apparent. We turned around in a lay-by and headed back, comforted slightly by now being on the inside track of the road.  We returned the car in one piece and walked home.  

That evening Ouray hosted a free ‘music in the park’ event, right in town. A weekly event in June. There were a couple of bands, a beer tent, numerous food trucks and it was really well attended with hundreds of people turning up . Every one brought chairs or picnic rugs and there were masses of dogs too.  It was a great evening, although when the sun went behind the hill it got very cold. The warmest folk were either the ones dancing, or the ones who had been sensible and brought warm blankets.  We were deploying neither strategy to stave off hypothermia, and headed home after a few pints and having shared a brisket sandwich and the most delightful punnet of barbecued prime rib chunks smothered in warm blue cheese sauce, topped with blue cheese sprinkles. MMMMMmmmmm. 

All in all, we loved our stay here and it was a place we could have stayed much longer.  It had a small town feel, but felt that it was part of something bigger.  It was beautiful, buzzing without feeling busy and full of people who loved to call it home.  I wonder how much the real estate is here…..?

6th – 10th June

When we were last in the town of Moab over New Year it was very, very cold, snowy and consequently very quiet. The temperatures did not rise above freezing at all during the day and fell to -16C/3F at the lowest point at night. Despite TC’s heater and insulation, it was too cold for happy camping. Inside moisture management whilst trying to stay warm was time consuming and the first job of each day was to remove the sheets of frozen condensation from the inside of the windows.

These were self inflicted discomforts, I know, as we had deliberately traveled here in the winter, but it was still a bit miserable. Our reason for being here was to visit Arches and Canyonlands National Parks in the low season, but due to the US federal shutdown and then a big dump of snow, they were both closed. We left seek warmer climes, and vowed to return this next trip. So return we did. This was first place on our travels that we had returned to a second time. Now it was summer and much busier but I take dealing with the crowds over having to defrost a septic pipe outflow with a hairdryer any day…. As we rolled into Moab this time it was 30c/86F and gloriously sunny.

We had booked three nights here, and after a trip to the supermarket, we rolled up to our deluxe RV park to check in, looking forward to a cooling dip in its newly renovated pool. This was when it came to our attention that we had been absolute muppets. Our booking didn’t start until tomorrow and they were full to capacity. We had packed up and driven away from our perfectly lovely camp in Torrey this morning after only one night’s stay. We had forgotten that we had booked and paid for two nights. Oops. Now we found ourselves in a busy holiday town in peak season, looking for a last minute vacancy. The words ‘needles’ and ‘haystacks’ sprang to mind. We sat in Big Dave and made some hasty phone calls. By some miracle they had a one night vacancy at the park that we had stayed at over New Year. Crisis averted. It was only 200m up the road so we hot-footed up there, set up camp and were in their slightly utilitarian, but no less welcoming pool before you could say ‘idiots abroad’. The place was heaving, but we were just happy not to be parked up in a lay-by with no mains power to run the AC.

The next morning, all idiocy forgotten, we headed back to our original camp, paid the designated $10 for an early check-in (which was cheeky as it was already quite expensive) and did our first camper ‘offload’ in ages. In fact, looking back, we hadn’t done this since Fort Davis, TX at the end of November last year. It went smoothly and no cross words were spoken. Alway a bonus. I maintain that off-loading and re-loading Tin Can is the biggest test to our marriage in current times. Far more than living in a tiny space together and spending 24/7 in each other’s company. Those couples with moderately sized trailer-boats will have a small insight into this. After the long drive, the excitement of the off-load, and the with the heat climbing steadily again, the only thing to do was go to the pool. It was a lot fancier here and a very welcome escape from the heat and dust. Later, as it got a bit cooler, we jumped on the bikes and headed the 1.5 miles into town for a mooch about. Moab is a shrine to the outdoor activity crowd, be it rafting, biking, off-roading or hiking, and every other business caters to them. The other half of the businesses seemed to be selling t-shirts and the usual touristy tat. We walked the small main street, Nick got some new handlebar grips for his bike and we looked for a place to get a refreshing, late afternoon beer. This was easier said than done. This is Utah. The strict licensing laws in this state mean that most establishments that sell alcohol only have restaurant licences, so you can’t drink without ordering a meal too. Eventually we found a bit of a ‘spit and sawdust’ type place that had a bar licence, enjoyed a pint of the local brew, and suitably refreshed, peddled home.

We were on the road early in the morning to get ahead of the crowds and the heat and visit Canyonlands National Park, a 45 minute drive from Moab. As we steadily climbed up the entry road we seemed to be the only ones going in our direction with most of the traffic going the other way. It left us wondering what they knew that we didn’t. (The answer? Nothing. I think they were the folk that had come up purely to watch sunrise through the photogenic Mesa Arch. It must have been standing room only up there) Canyonlands is a bit of a Cinderella National Park. It is less trafficked than the better known Arches National Park, only having half the number of visitors annually. I had no expectations of what to expect at Canyonlands. Although the clue should be in the name, it sounds more like a theme park than what is is, which is a wilderness of sedimentary rock with hundreds of canyons and formations cut from the Colorado Plateau.

It is vast and the brain struggles to make sense of what the eyes can see. We filled our day with several shorter hikes rather than one long one. The first was to see the afore mentioned ‘Mesa Arch’, (which is very photogenic),

the second was up to an overlook, (a good walk with a surprisingly mediocre view) and the third was a flat-ish walk to the edge of the plateau to look down on one of the most amazingly expansive views that I have ever seen.

It was also our picnic location. Ne’er has a sandwich had such a stage. I am proposing that Canyonlands National Park be renamed Great Land of Canyons National Park. I think that this gives it more of the gravitas that it deserves. After tearing ourselves away from the vista we headed home via town for provisions, discovered the Moab Brewery, another place for a sneaky beer without having to eat, and then escaped to the campsite pool again. Life is tough.

The following morning we were up and out even earlier in order to visit the better known Arches National Park, the entrance of which is only about 4 miles from Moab’s northern limit. It has over 2000 natural sandstone arches within its boundaries, boasting the highest density of natural arches in the world, many of which are very accessible. These are the things that bring more than 1.5 million visitors to Arches each year and can make it unbearably busy in peak times. We hit the gates at 7.15am, joining an already significant stream of traffic going up the hill. The pay station booth was closed until 8am, making entry free. This might have been the other motivation for many people’s early start. We drove the entire length of the scenic drive to its end point, Devils Garden. Here there was a rapidly filling car park, it being the trailhead for a walk to see one of the most impressive arches, Landscape Arch.

This is the longest span of any natural arch in the world, at 290.1ft. It is very delicate, even more so since it has periodically shed a few sizeable lumps of rock over the past few decades. In the past one could walk right underneath it, but the Park Service has become a bit twitchy about the prospect of it falling down completely and have now fenced it off to prevent the squishing of unsuspecting arch tourists. Sensible.

The trail to Landscape Arch was well formed and well travelled, but once past it the trail instantly became a bit more sporting, involving a shimmy up a steep slick-rock path. This put off most of the bus-tour groups and less fit and able and so it was much quieter. We completed a really interesting 7 mile loop on a primitive trail, taking in a few more remote arches and rock formations.

A short part of the trail was along the top of a narrow ‘fin’ formation with no obvious way down until you were practically at the end. There were no safety rails and it was incredibly windy up there. My knees were knocking, but Nick bounded along it like a mountain goat. He’s the one with the worse vertigo. Go figure.

Fearful episodes aside it was beautiful and mostly spent in peaceful solitude. That was until we encountered a large group of ladies of a certain age on a tour. We could hear them long before we saw them. They were stood in a shrieking huddle atop a slick-rock saddle, plumb in the middle of the moderately dicey thoroughfare, taking an endless combination of selfies and group photos. Funny and annoying in equal measures. After our walk we found a rare quiet car park and had the first ‘Big Dave picnic, sat in the bed, admiring the view.

Due to our stupidness of accidentally arriving in Moab a day ahead of ourselves, we realised that we were now going to overlap for one night at this camp with our new Bryce Canyon friends, Janet and Bill. They rolled in mid-afternoon and after we had re-loaded Tin Can back atop Big D (again, happily, without harsh words or incidents), and done a plethora of little jobs, including changing a flat tyre on my bike, we surprised them with a knock on their door and arranged to share a few more drinks that evening. It was obvious that we had some differing opinions on politics, religion and general affairs of the heart, but we generally avoided these topics and consequently continued to get on very well!

The morning saw us move on again, this time to our first new state of this trip, Colorado.

3rd -6th June 2019

Having navigated our way through the one-way tunnel we left Zion National Park and headed towards our next destination, Bryce Canyon National Park. Utah has five National Parks, and along with the Grand Canyon National Park, they are all close enough together so that a loop drive to see them all is easily achievable in 10-14 days. It must be one of the most beautiful road-trip loops in the world, with just endless miles and miles of jaw-dropping scenery. As we cruise through this area of the States we find ourselves, like countless others, knocking off National Parks as if we were on safari in Africa bagging the ‘big five’. The National Parks do have a strange draw.

Facts: 60% of the population of Utah are Mormons. Utahans eat twice the amount of lime green Jell-O (often with added shredded carrot) as the rest of the population. Utah has more plastic surgeons per capita than any other state. I am not sure if these facts are related.

A modest 90 mile drive brought us to Bryce Canyon City. Not really a city, more a small gateway town comprising mainly of the sprawling arms of an long established business called Ruby’s, grown from a small staging post into a great enterprise that seems to have completely taken over the town with a large hotel, a ‘dinner show’ restaurant, the only grocery shop, and a campsite and RV park. This is where we were staying. We had climbed to 8000ft elevation, and the t-shirt and shorts that I had put in in the morning were definitely not cutting the mustard, the temperature having dropped by a good 20F. After setting up camp, availing myself of another layer of clothing, we stretched our legs with a foot tour around the camp. This is a great opportunity to be nosy and check out other people’s rigs. It is also an entirely socially acceptable way of spending time because, as a rule, RVers love having their rigs admired and gawked at. That night was a bit of a shock to the system, as the temperature dropped to near freezing. We had remembered to put a blanket on the bed, but not to shut the roof vents. Duh. You live and learn. Crazy that we had been struggling to sleep due to the heat only a few nights previously. That’s elevation for you.

Our day in Bryce Canyon started at a leisurely 10.30am. With picnic packed we caught the free shuttle bus into the park from the bus stop right outside the camp. The shuttle here is not compulsory like it is in Zion, but I am not sure why you would chose not to use it and instead battle to find a car parking space. We got off the bus at the most distant stop from the visitors centre where there was a trail called ‘Peek-a-boo’that went down into the canyon base. There is definitely a psychological difference between hiking up a hill and hiking down into a canyon. With the former the hard work of the first half of the walk is rewarded with a splendid view at the summit and one is safe in the knowledge that getting home will be easier. For a canyon hike, the opposite is true. Coupled with the thin air, there was definitely some heavy breathing back up the hill at the end. It was very much worth it though. Bryce Canyon is a visual feast of colourful rock stacks and formations, weathered by wind, rain and snow rather than a river. It is epic.

Despite the climb out of the canyon, when we got back to the rim trail it was still quite early in the day, and we still had some life left in our legs so we decided to escape the modest crowds and walk all the way home rather than take the shuttle bus again. This added about 3.5 kms to our walk but it was easy going along a beautifully paved cycle trail through regenerating forest. It was almost deserted with our only fellow souls being a few deer.

By the time we arrived home we had covered about 15km in total and definitely earned eating and drinking credits. (Despite the credits, I fear that we are still generally in arrears in this department, but you do what you can do…) After a wash and brush up we shared some drinks and nibbles with a couple of fellow campers called Janet and Bill from Colorado Springs, whom we had met on our ramble through the RV park the afternoon before. We had a very lovely few hours of chat and tales with them outside their trailer before the cool wind broke up the party. They were heading in the same direction as us from here, and even going to be staying in the same camp in Moab, but we will be just ahead of them, and leave on the day that they arrive.

The next day we said our goodbyes and headed off to our next stop, Torrey, the small town that services visitors to our next destination, Capitol Reef National Park. The drive was, you guessed it, stunning, along a designated scenic byway, Highway 12. I am not sure what constitutes such a designation as the whole blimmin’ place is gorgeous. The road led us up our first serious climb of 3,000ft, up to 9,200 ft over Boulder Mountain. There were still patches of snow up here.. Big Dave managed it slowly but surely, flip-flopping between 3rd and 4th gear, looking for the elusive, Harry Potter-esque, 3 and 1/2 gear. For all his greatness, Big D only has four gears and although we don’t mention it within his earshot, we wish he was a diesel…..shhhhh….. We were happy that he had recently had his new water pump and glad to be up and over the top without coming close to over heating. Others were not so lucky and we passed more than one truck/car pulled over with its bonnet (hood for the Americans) up.

Torrey is a small place. A cluster of petrol stations, hotels and RV parks, and a few restaurants to nourish the travellers. Our roost was at one end of town, a small, slightly shabby place with a chilled out, homely feel and a killer view of the end of Capitol Reef. It was run by a displaced, surfer dude type and his wife, moved from San Diego a while back. The other advantage of this park was that it was across the road from one of ‘Southern Utah’s finest restaurants’, Cafe Diablo, a modern Mexican bistro if you can imagine such a thing. After a relaxed afternoon of pottering and fixing a few things, we washed and wandered over for dinner. It was just as well that we had booked, as its reputation was seemingly deserved and it was packed. We ate outside on the veranda in the sunny warmth of the mere 6,800 ft elevation and had a great meal. Nick’s rattlesnake cakes and my spicy risotto were the stars of the show. Our evening was mildly irritated by the loud brash woman sat behind us who felt it necessary to have a maximum-volume opinion on everything and engage all around her in conversation about herself. We were not spared and as we were leaving she talked at us too. Her husband looked sheepish and long suffering. We did however learn that they had been to Kerikeri, our NZ home town for many years. Now that is unusual in these parts, and they had a nice dog with them too, so two redeeming features.

In the morning we packed up and headed off on our way. Our plan for the day was to drive through Capitol Reef National Park, stop along the way to do a short hike, and then continue on to our next stop, Moab. Capitol Reef is described as a ‘wrinkle in the earth’s crust’. It’s 100 mile long monocline, or one-sided fold in the otherwise horizontal rock layers created over millions of years by the slow but powerful processes of deposition, uplift and erosion. (Yes, I might have read that somewhere…. ) Anyway. It is another magnificent sight. Our walk was up a narrow gorge, or wash. Bone dry today, but intermittently filled with a raging torrent of destructive water cascading down from the hills, carving an every deeper slice out of the bedrock. But not today. Thankfully. It was roasting hot and an hour’s amble was plenty. No point in adding our bleached skeletons to the tourist attractions. Having survived our walk we hit the road again, leaving Capitol Reef, and suffered another gorgeous journey over to the town of Moab.

1st – 3rd June 2019

We had a leisurely three hour drive up Interstate 15 from Nevada, through the north-west corner of Arizona to Southern Utah, and then to our next destination, Zion National Park. Possibly the best named of all the parks. Zion is a steep-sided canyon carved out by the river Virgin. Although inhabited on and off by small tribes of various native peoples since about 6000 BCE, it was almost unknown to the outside world until the early 20th century. Now Zion is one of the most visited of the National Parks, seeing 4.5 million visitors in 2017, an issue which has caused signifiant traffic congestion in this relatively small canyon park in the past. Nowadays cars are banned from the majority of the park in the summer, there being a compulsory shuttle bus system scooping up people from the visitors centre and stopping at various look-outs and trail heads along the scenic route. This has created a rare environment for this country, the car-less zone. I got the impression that this had encouraged many more people to tackle some of the walking trails rather than just doing a ‘tour-by-car’. The park is serviced by the town of Springdale, which sits right at its southern entrance, and this was the location of our next camp. Springdale is linked to the Visitors Centre of the park by another very efficient shuttle bus system, which had a stop right outside our campsite. We had planned to use it to get to the park until we realised it was only a ten minute walk. The wait for a bus was often longer than this.

Our camp was large and busy, but surprisingly quiet, even when two coach-loads of twelve year-olds on a school camping trip arrived and set camp right behind us. That could have been far more disastrous than it actually was! The camp, like the whole town, sat sandwiched between the tall peaks of the surrounding rocks of the canyon sides which glowed red as the setting sun hit them. Quite beautiful. It was still quite warm here, so we planned another early start the next day to beat the heat and the crowds for our expedition into the park. Sandwiches were fashioned, water bottles filled, hats, sunnies and rucksacks gathered. We filled the evening with a BBQ dinner, again, and sat outside and watched the world go by.

We were up and out by 7.30am the next morning which was quite a feat for us as we are generally quite lazy. Our ten minute walk to the park included a stop for a take-out coffee from a very well placed cafe and we joined the moderate sized throng of fellow backpack-adorned day-trippers in the queue for the shuttle bus. Unfortunately, although it was already June, and the daytime temperatures are nudging 90F/30C, some of the more interesting, quieter hikes into some side canyons were still closed due to snow pack. Just shows how cold and snowy it gets here in the winter. You may remember that we had planned to visit this area and the big parks in January on our last trip, but snow combined with the federal shutdown had scuppered our plans. In retrospect, I am glad, because I think we probably been quite limited in what we could have seen and done at that time of year. Over the course of the day we did 4-5 different trails, winding our way slowly back to the visitors centre. A couple were very popular climbs up to lookouts, called Angels Landing Trail and Watchman’s Trail. The views were amazing and well worth the effort, but it was already busy despite it still not being high season. The Angels Landing Trail in particular was like a two-way procession of ants. Ants of all shapes, sizes and ages. Some ants dressed to tackle the north face of the Eiger, some dressed for a quick trip to Walmart. The other trails that we did were flatter and along the river, with the rocks towering above us. These, by comparison were almost deserted and a real pleasure. In the end we covered a total of 16km on foot, having found a quiet, ant-free spot in the welcome shade of a tree, atop a grand escarpment looking up into this most magnificent canyon. A fine spot. A good day.

We arrived home mid-afternoon, weary and hot, but revitalised ourselves with a dip in the swimming pool (before the hoards arrived) and a shower, in anticipation of a meal out in town. In the end our dinner was a bit mediocre, but we has a very pleasant few hours sharing some drinks and tall tales with our camping neighbours,Keith, Ann, Alex and Rachel (who were having a family trip in a sizeable rental RV) beforehand and afterwards. In the morning we bade farewell to the neighbours (having inherited some supplies as their trip was near its end) and headed of towards our next ‘big ticket’ destination, Bryce Canyon, a 90 mile drive away. The drive commenced with some slow traffic in the upper canyon as we waited for our turn to drive through a small narrow 1.5 mile tunnel. During the day this is alternating one-way-only having been constructed long before RVs and coaches came this way. It was a bit of a scary passage, even being able to drive in the middle of the road. Despite the excellent driving skills of my husband, it was seemingly very hard to follow a yellow line. I can appreciate that it messes with your head.

28th May – 31st May 2019

Tuesday 28th May saw us leaving New Zealand for the foreseeable future and returning to Las Vegas to be reunited with Big Dave and his near constant companion, the Tin Can. It had been 4 months since we had checked them into a large storage facility in North Las Vegas which also had a full service centre on site; a bit like a health spa for RVs. Whilst there Big Dave had a full service, and investigation of a recently developed coolant leak ascertained that he needed a new water pump. So this was replaced and a rusty battery housing was repaired too. Big D is a great truck, but like the rest of us, he is getting on a bit. He is a 2005 model and although relatively low milage for his age, things do need fixing and replacing as the years and miles go by. Also a bit like us. Tin Can had a once over to check all his seals. The putty/silicone type obviously rather than the fish eating, ball balancing type. That would be odd, and unexpected, I think.

After the usual tedious, but quickly forgotten, long haul flight across the Pacific and a short flight from San Francisco we arrived in Las Vegas in the early evening, technically 2 hours before we had departed. The date line never fails to bemuse me. We took an Uber to the north of the city where we had booked a single night in a hotel near the storage unit. Our driver was mighty excited to have a fare that didn’t involve a trip to The Strip and we were happy to be bypassing it too this time. Our hotel was still basically a casino with accomodation but we managed to resist any gambling urges and after dinner, a sleep and breakfast we headed over to collect the boys.

They were all ready for the off, looking shiny and clean, when we arrived at midday and after a quick supermarket stock up, we tackled the long and arduous 5km journey to our first night’s stop. (No need to strain a road-trip muscle on the first day…) This was a very utilitarian park where we had spent our last few days at the end of the last trip. It was purely a place to unpack and get everything sorted and ship-shape before we headed off. The park is situated pretty much at the end of the runway of Nellis Airforce Base, so for a good portion of the day it is both incredibly noisy and at the same time very entertaining (if you like that sort of thing) as the fighter jets take off in pairs at 10 minute intervals for their war-game sorties over the desert. I am sure that the infernal racket makes real-estate quite affordable in this part of town and one might kindly describe the area as ‘rough’. The park had super-max security, and we weren’t so much ‘checked-in’ as ‘locked- in’. Welcome to the other side of Vegas. The side where CSI is kept very busy if you know what I mean. But we did feel very safe behind our tall perimeter fence. A redeeming feature of the park was its lovely swimming pool, which despite the late afternoon temperature high of 95F/35C, was empty except for us. Weird.

The next day we were ready to get going for real and we hit the road. Our first stop was the popular, nearby Valley Of Fire State Park, only about an hour out of Vegas to the north east. There was a campground here with limited RV sites but as it was ‘first-come-first-served’ we weren’t sure there would be space for us. The crossed fingers worked, and when we rolled in at about midday, there was only one spot available which we gratefully occupied. It was an amazing camp with huge and secluded sites, great views and even wifi (for a fee). It was very warm, and so after setting up and having lunch, we did very little for the rest of the afternoon. We had plans to do a good hike in the morning, so laziness was entirely acceptable. The evening came and we sat in our camp chairs admiring the amazing views of the surrounding red rock formations as the sun set behind us, lighting them all up orange then pink. As it cooled we watched the younger of our fellow campers emerge from the shadows of awnings and air-conditioned interiors to clamber over nearby rocks and boulders like ants, on the quest for a great photo. And the older folk? More sense, and probably onto the 3rd G&T by then already.

The name ‘Valley Of Fire’ was a clue that this was to be a hot place, but after our adventures of camping in sub-zero temperatures only a few months ago it was a bit of a shock to the system. All the windows and vents were open, the fan was on, no covers were needed at night. Internal moisture control? Who cares? Insulating blankets and covers up over the windows and doors as darkness falls? No Sir-ee! And summer hasn’t even really started yet.

Fact: Nevada is the most mountainous state of the lower 48, with over 400 ranges, and 40 peaks over 10,000ft in elevation.

In the morning we got up early to do a hike before it got too hot. We set off on foot from the campground at 8am with 3 litres of water and a camera and tackled a trail called ‘The Pinnacles’. This crossed the valley floor and wound up behind a ridge to some small….you guessed it…pinnacles. These were made of the same red rock as at our camp and the trail went right amongst them. It was stunning. We walked for 10km in total and didn’t see another soul, except this little fella.

Nice to have a private trail. By the time we got back it was only 11am, but already very hot. That may have been the reason for the solitude. What they say about mad dogs and Englishmen is often so true. Another lazy afternoon sat reading in the shade led seamlessly into another sunset, some beers and a BBQ dinner . Camping is a lot more fun when its like this.

15th-17th Feb

We flew from Salt Lake City to LA, for our final couple of nights in America-land. We based ourselves in Beverley Hills for one reason, and one reason only. The Petersen Automotive Museum. This is a quite epic collection of classic and valuable cars that belonged to a magazine empire bazillionaire called Robert Petersen. He housed it in an old department store building on Wilshire Boulevard which has had a funky facelift, making it one of the most eye-catching buildings in the world.

The collection is vast and priceless. Most of it is housed in the basement of the building, called The Vault. For an extra fee you can have a small-group tour around these cars, 10% of which are covered in transparent waterproof covers much like car-sized versions of disposable hotel shower caps. This is because this jaw-dropping building full of hundreds of millions of dollars worth of cars leaks like a sieve. Go figure.

Apart from oogling at cars, we spent our time here walking and soaking up the bizarre environs of Beverley Hills, Rodeo Drive and Wilshire Boulevard and we ate and drank at ‘not-unexpectedly-inflated’ expense.

We spent some time reflecting on our trip, the second of two epic journeys across this enormous and diverse country.

This trip had taken us to more cities than the first one, but also through more miles of desert wilderness than we could have previously imagined existed.

The South is a very different beast to the rest of the country, and Texas is just Texas: a huge slab of the land that would be happy if you cut it out and set it loose as an island in the Pacific to do its own thing.

Music and BBQ matters more the further South you slip and fossil fuels still rule the roost.

The winters in the south are mild, but cold in the mountains took us by surprise. I know that it shouldn’t have.

Living in a camper is not fun in sub-zero temperatures.

The more cities we visit, the more we fall in love with the small towns of America.

We return to New Zealand on 19th Feb where we will have fourteen weeks to catch up with friends, enjoy the tail-end of summer and autumn, and do some life-sorting. We return to USA at the end of May for our 3rd Tin Can Travels adventure. See you all there quite soon!

5th – 15th Feb

From Vegas we flew to Salt Lake City and had a glorious ten day ski trip in nearby Park City.

It was great, and I am sure that you neither want or need a blow-by-blow account of it.

Summary, as per most skiing holidays:

1.Get up

2. Eat massive breakfast

3. Put on loads of clothes, sweat

4. Strap self into instruments of torture (aka ski boots)

5. Hobble, with skis flailing in all directions, to base-station gondola, sweat more

6. Lift, ski, lift, ski, lift, ski….repeat until exhausted

7. Hobble, drink, wash, change, hobble, drink, eat, drink, sleep

8. Get up, cry out with pain of stiff legs….repeat 2-8 until time to go home.

Here I can make an honourable mention of Wayne and Val whom we had met in Texas and who drove 7 hours from their home in Colorado (15 minutes from a very good ski resort), to come skiing with us. A much appreciated effort, which resulted in a very fun few days. Thank you!

One of life’s great truths is that all great ski trips must come to an end. It is an expensive type of fun, but worth every penny (or cent). It is also good to come away without injury, and slightly firmer thighs despite having eaten like a horse.

23rd Jan – 4th Feb

Perhaps it was Vegas, perhaps it was having been on the road for five months, but I obviously ran out of steam and a little bit of enthusiasm to get these last posts done. The whole trip I have battled with being weeks behind writing about our travels, but I now find myself MONTHS in arrears. I am contrite, but now armed with a brand new laptop, which I don’t have to share, here I am, fingertips to keyboard, to fill you in on the final fortnight of Tin Can Travels-The Sequel, and our last few weeks in the USA.

As we drove away from Las Vegas, we were certain of one thing. We would be back in two weeks. Big Dave and Tin Can were booked into storage here in a brand new facility capable of storing 300 big RV buses. We would definitely be the ‘small kids on the block’. Our next date in the meantime was to be in Southern California in three days. Here we were meeting Lori again and staying with her and her parents, Rocky and Casey, at their winter-time residence in Palm Desert, a town near Palm Springs.

Our first stop on our way there was a place called Lake Havasu City, Arizona. As the name suggests it is on the shores of Lake Havasu, one of the many lakes created by the damming of the Colorado River. This place is fairly sleepy in the winter, being an affordable place for the temporary winter-escaping Snowbirds to come and quietly sit, but in Spring, Summer and Autumn it is a buzzing playground for all-comers with all types of water craft. It is best known for a bridge. Not any old bridge, but the original London Bridge.

This was purchased from the City of London by a chap called Robert McCulloch in 1962. The 1831 construction was not strong enough to cope with the increasing traffic of the day and needed replacing. McCulloch, a developer who had founded the lakeside retirement town needed a gimmick to bring in the crowds and put his town on the map. He bought the bridge which was disassembled and shipped to Arizona. The individual stones were cut thinner and used to clad a modern ‘under-structure’, retaining its original appearance. (He then on-sold the remaining stone for a considerable amount, covering most of his costs of the whole project.) The bridge was a triumph. It attracted lots of people who came to see the displaced historic British monument, who then bought the plots he had developed. We arrived here on a lovely sunny afternoon and headed to the only RV park within walking distance of the bridge. We didn’t have a booking, but luckily for us the last available site was right on the lakeshore with a stunning view. We headed into town to admire the bridge, enjoyed a couple of beers in the sun and headed home in time to catch sunset over the lake.

Our stay was short and in the morning we continued southwards to another curiosity, The Quartzsite RV show. This is a week-long expo of all things RV, co-located with a gem show, and hosts a million visitors in this time. Many of these will, of course, come in their rigs, and due to very relaxed freedom camping rules in Arizona, the scrubby desert land around the show is covered with buses, vans, trailers and campers as far as the eye can see.

We came, we queued, we parked in a dry river bed, we wandered the stalls, we window-shopped a few new trailers and apart from the junk food we had for lunch, we left without being parted from any money. We headed off before the crowds had the same idea and crossed into California to find the night’s roost, a riverside camp outside a town called Blythe. This initially seemed a questionable choice as we struggled to find a suitable pitch that we could fit into, amongst the many permanent dwellers. This was the closest we had come to ‘trailer park trash’ on this trip. Spirits were low and we were close to just driving on, but by magic, one of the premium riverside sites on the posh side of the camp suddenly became available. It was lovely. A westerly view, with much more savoury neighbours. We happily installed ourselves and grabbed a cold beer each to accompany the setting of the sun. Spirits resurrected. Magic all around!

The next day we headed off to Palm Desert and our few nights on ‘dry land’ with Lori and her parents. Rocky and Casey live in a gated retirement community complete with golf course, clubhouse, pool, gym, bar and restaurant, all beautifully manicured. The town consists almost entirely of similar communities, and the golf cart is an entirely legal form of transport, with dedicated traffic lanes. At this time of the year the weather is perfect, whereas in Seattle it is ‘challenging’. I can entirely understand why they, and hundreds of thousands of like-minded retirees, head south for the winters. The ‘enclave’ was so safe and security conscious that it took a 20 minute delay and several phone calls to be allowed in, despite Casey having been very organised and left all our details at the gatehouse. We sneeked in under the canopy of the entrance and wound our way through the maze of roads to find their place, then squeezed onto the driveway.

The Hillbilly Hampsons had arrived! Our accommodation was a cozy ensuite bedroom in a garden casita. Quite perfect! We had a lovely few days with Lori, spending our time variously with and without her folks, sitting in the sun, eating and drinking, exploring nearby Palm Springs, hiking and visiting markets. One day we took a gondola ride up the mountain above Palm Springs which gives a great view of the desert and valley. The gondola car rotated on its ascent, which was a little nauseating for me, and at the top there was still snow on the ground despite the mid 70s F temps at the bottom of the hill. This was quite exciting for the day tripping Southern Californians who don’t see much of the white stuff. Many of them were comically overdressed in snow gear and carrying flimsy plastic sledges. The sledges seemed mostly designed to only withstand the rigours of a couple of ‘runs’ before self-destructing into a hundred pieces, which, for some reason their riders then saw fit to abandon at the bottom of the slopes. The lovely hiking area up there was littered with tons of brightly coloured shards of plastic. This is behaviour that makes my blood boil… “Pick up your s*&t, People!” We finished our walk with armfuls of the broken pieces which we were able to dispose of in the dedicated ‘dead sledge’ area. Such is the size of the problem.

We bade farewell to the Rocky and Casey, hopefully long before we had overstayed our welcome, and with huge gratitude for their hospitality, and headed back East. The federal shutdown was by now suspended, and Joshua Tree National Park, which had had to be closed to protect it from destructive unsupervised visitors during the shutdown, was now open again. (There are reports that the park may take up to 350 years to recover from the damage, which includes damage to the slow-growing eponymous Joshua Trees by people that were running amok in the absence of park rangers. This also makes my blood boil. “Don’t vandalise s*&t, People!”)

We drove through the park, a little underwhelmed by the Joshua trees, but impressed by some of the characteristic rock formations and after a lunch stop north of the park, headed north along one of the most unexpectedly amazing roads of the trip. It was a like a synopsis of our whole journey in one road: deserted endless blacktop winding through miles and miles of scrubby desert plains dotted with some far more impressive Joshua trees than in the park, horizons rimmed by distant snow capped mountains, with blue skies and fluffy high cloud. A joy to travel.

Our splendid isolation ended as we approached a town called Barstow, and our unusually long day of driving ended at our night’s roost, possibly the most unusual of our stops: Peggy Sue’s 50s Diner. This was a rare ‘boon docking’ night. It was not a formal RV park, but a truck-stop. There were no services to hook up to, we were to be self sufficient for the night. This was an old fashioned 50s diner right next to a busy noisy interstate highway.

The diner piped loud 50s music out into the carpark from dawn to 9pm, and bizarrely had a dinosaur park. Across the road was an army training base where they were loading hundreds of tanks nose-to-tail onto railway carriages, all night. Massive trucks were arriving and leaving all the time. It was noisy, very noisy. But it was free, and we had ear plugs. We availed ourselves of a classic diner meal for dinner and actually slept quite well.

We had a few days in hand before we were due back in Vegas, so decided to head back through Death Valley. We found a camp on the southern border of the park that had all the pre-requisites to keep the Hampsons happy for a few days: good wifi, a view, somewhere nearby to go for a walk or cycle and a bar/restaurant/shop within walking distance. This was in a village called Shoshone. Unfortunately we were unable to take full advantage of its charms as Nick succumbed to a bout of food poisoning. We retrospectively traced this back to some elderly tomato chutney that thankfully hadn’t made into my sandwich. Suffice to say, the next two days were very miserable for him, and a test of managing to sustain sincere sympathy whilst breathing through my mouth, maintaining strict hygiene standards and tip-toeing around for me. The camper has never felt quite so small…

On day three we both emerged from the haze (literal and metaphorical) and made the final long journey of our trip back to Las Vegas. Nick was still feeling very tired and fragile, so I took the wheel and took us back to Sin City. This was a bit hairy at the end as we hit the urban highway with all its craziness of fast drivers, tailgaters and random lane changers. I am normally a passenger, so the knuckles where white on the wheel! We arrived at our final camp in north Vegas, chosen for its proximity to our storage facility and its on site bar/restaurant. We had given ourselves three nights here, plenty of time to do all the chores involved in getting everything ready to go into storage. Nick was starting to perk up as we arrived and had his first proper meal in days that evening. The camp was right next to Nellis Air Force Base, a fast jet facility. We were treated to some impressive (but very loud) low level flying displays, approaches and take offs. Very Top Gun.

The next couple of days were a slow blur of laundry, cleaning, sorting, chucking and packing. Nick retuned to his usual perky self eventually, but we never did make it to the bar. Instead we ate several of those interesting invented meals that are created only by ‘eating up’ and emptying cupboards and the fridge. Finally on the morning of the 4th Feb we headed up the road to our storage facility. On the way we put Big Dave through a commercial truck wash. This involved pulling into a large drive-thru’ shed staffed with half a dozen chaps armed with various implements like long handled brushes and industrial strength jet wash wands. It was quick, fierce, efficient and very effective at removing the last few months of road grime, and perhaps rather predictably, some of our decals. Our ‘Lance’ camper is now a ‘Lan’ camper. I have added ‘new decals’ to our list of jobs next trip.

This year’s storage is in a massive, newly built facility that had booked up fast and we were lucky to secure a space. We arrived still dripping wet, did all the necessary paperwork and paid our bill. This time we only will be away for three and a half months, so it didn’t feel such a wrench to unload our bags, book an Uber and walk away. Our flight out of Vegas wasn’t until the next day so we had booked another night on The Strip, at the MGM Grand. This was not a patch on The Venetian, but we had a lovely Chinese meal and an otherwise very ‘un-Vegas’ type of evening. We were tired and Nick not quite back to 100%. We had to save ourselves for the fun of the next ten days…

15th – 23rd Jan

We had a date in Las Vegas, a weekend rendezvous with my brother Martin. He works remotely for a large Los Angeles based company from home in London, mostly wearing his pyjamas, but about once every three months he gets dressed and flies to LA for a couple of weeks to show his face and go to meetings. We clashed diaries several months ago and a plan was hatched. We could meet in Vegas on his mid-trip weekend and share our Sin City experience with him. We booked hotel rooms on the Strip for the Friday and Saturday nights, he booked flights, a few Vegas-centric activities were organised and we were ready for fun!

Our meanderings brought us to Las Vegas three days before our ‘Trip to the Strip’. We booked into the RV park at Sam’s Town, a casino hotel complex on the outskirts of the city, immortalised by The Killers in their eponymous track. This was cheap, had all the facilities that we needed and had a free shuttle bus to both the Strip and to the Downtown area. We arrived on Nick’s birthday and after a wash and brush-up we walked over to the main building, navigated our way through the cigarette smoke and flashing light filled gaming hall and found a bar and then a steak restaurant. These are the places my husband chose for his birthday treat. He was happy.

The next day we took advantage of the shuttle bus and took a trip into town for our first glimpse of the craziness. The Las Vegas strip is a mythical place. Familiar but mysterious. The location of countless movies and TV shows and the setting for many a tale of woe or glory. Neither of us had been here before and we were looking forward to seeing it for ourselves. Of course, at about midday on a Wednesday Vegas is a fairly subdued place. Most folks are inside, either still sleeping, eating or feeding a slot machine. We joined the small procession of tourists drifting down the pavements, taking in the casino hotels with all the familiar names and initially thinking that overall The Strip seemed a bit smaller and more intimate than we had imagined. We cruised through the lobby, gambling hall and along the ‘Grand Canal Shoppes’ of the Venetian, which is where we had booked in for the weekend.

The hotels here are not normal. Their scale is enormous. Thousands of rooms, hundreds and hundreds of slot machines, and bars and restaurants at every turn. It is easy to get disorientated and lost and I wonder if that is part of the strategy for making money. ‘Oh, I am lost. I cannot find my room/the way out/ the gym. Never mind, let me sit down and throw $50 into a slot machine instead…’ We managed to escape back outside, crossed the Bridge of Sighs, passed the Venetian Tower and gondolas and headed up to one of the equally massive shopping malls. We had a rare hour apart to do a bit of clothes shopping and then headed back to the shuttle mid afternoon via a couple of scoops of ice-cream.

The next day it rained, but we were prepared for that. We had booked appointments for late morning at the casino’s in-house hair salon and having emerged with surprisingly half decent haircuts, we filled the rest of the day with laundry. Life is just one big adventure, you know.

Friday came, the rain was gone and we packed a bag and headed back to town. The check-in area of The Venetian was more like that of an airport with ropes creating a snaking queue. We were quite early so luckily avoided a long wait. We got our keys and headed upstairs. We had booked adjoining rooms with Martin, who was not due until mid evening. The room was one of their ‘basic’ ones: with a sunken lounge area, 3 TVs and an enormous bathroom with the all important tub. No kettle or coffee machine though. How’s a girl meant to get a cup of tea??? After lunch we filled the afternoon with a movie and I had the first of 4 baths in 48 hours. If I couldn’t get a hot drink then I was going to get my money’s worth in hot water. The afternoon had one interruption, with a delivery to our room. A bottle of champagne and a box of luxury chocolates. A very generous gift from the lovely Jeromes. What impeccable taste and timing!

After a few glasses of the champers (oh all right, all of it) we went down to one of the hotel’s cocktail bars to await Martin’s arrival. He had pulled of a successful ‘Friday Evening Dash’, getting from work to Las Vegas without any delays. His timing was perfect, arriving with time for a quick change and a G&T before our 9.30pm dinner booking. This was at a great steak restaurant in the hotel. It was excellent, and should have been for the price. It was great to catch up with him, much rubbish was spoken and wine drunk. We were officially the last to leave, and headed back to the casino floor via another cocktail or two. The spirit for a night of gambling was strong, but the flesh was weak (and fairly drunk by now). Martin and I lost Nick for about an hour somewhere in the casino hall. Plan A for finding him was to stay put, but he didn’t come back. Plan B was to wander around and around the vast room filled with hundreds and hundreds of flashing machines and hundreds and hundreds of people to ‘see if we could see him’. We couldn’t. Plan C? Check the room in case he had done a very uncharacteristic ‘take-himself- t0- bed’ move. Nope. It wasn’t until we got to Plan D that we remembered that savour of ‘getting lost in modern times’, the mobile telephone. We rang him, he answered and we found him. Duh. I managed to convince the re-assembled party that our beds, not the Black Jack tables, were the place be at 2.30 am, and thence we went.

Saturday morning was well underway by the time we reconvened. Heads were slightly fuzzy and Martin was also still dealing with some jet lag and a cold. Breakfast was needed. We decided to wriggle out of the embrace of the hotel and walk up the Strip in the sunshine to a breakfast diner with good reviews that Nick had found online. Unfortunately a bazillion other people had had the same idea and there was an hour’s wait for a table. We couldn’t wait that long. Hangovers needed feeding. Stat. The first place that we could find that fitted the bill of serving coffee and cooked breakfast was a rather elegant garden restaurant in the more snazzy hotel, the Encore. Out of one embrace, straight into another, but it was perfect. A bit fancier than we had planned, but this was a survival situation…. After breakfast, which was actually at lunchtime, we shuffled back to the hotel, and back to our beds. More sleep was needed if there was any hope of making it through another night on the town and an afternoon nap is practically compulsory in this town, I hear.

It was dark again by the time we surfaced for our 6pm rendezvous. Rested, washed, dressed and ready for another meal. Our first choice burger restaurant was packed, with another long queue, so we found another that had plenty of space. In retrospect, there was a very good reason for this as our meal was very mediocre, but it was food, served with acceptable beer and didn’t cost a small fortune. Tonight’s focus was more on the entertainment. We had booked tickets to see Penn and Teller, the magicians. They are grand-daddies of Vegas and their show has been running here since 2001 in an older hotel off the Strip called the Rio.

We grabbed a cab and headed over there a bit early to be in good time to pick up our tickets and visit the Voodoo Bar, a roof top ‘nite club’ with good views of town. The bar didn’t open until 8pm and we were first in the queue behind the little velvet rope at the entrance to the lift lobby. There was a security check before we could go up in the lift, from which we emerged into possibly one of the most soulless establishments in this town. ALL the seating inside, and outside was cordoned off and reserved, but empty, and the view from the open-air area was good, but the way to it blocked off by the empty seating. We had one very overpriced drink served in plastic (Hate, hate, hate) and then happily it was time to go.

Penn and Teller were brilliant. Magic shows aren’t usually my thing. I am too logical and need to know how the trick works. But they were very entertaining and actually gave away a fair few secrets along the way. Or did they? I’m not sure now. I certainly don’t know how they made the elephant disappear. (NB. Not a real elephant.) From the Rio we bypassed the long queue at the taxi rank and walked back to the Strip.

We stopped to watch the Bellagio fountains do their thing and then cruised with the throngs back in the direction of the Venetian. Now the place was alive. There were scantily clad ‘showgirls’ with feathered headdresses trying to lure tourists into having their photo taken with them for a hefty tip, no doubt. Folks handing out leaflets for clubs/tours/casinos. There were normal people and the weird. The sober and the merry. There were all ages and all nationalities. (The Russians were easy to spot.) There were kids in push chairs and adults on mobility scooters. And there were countless people like us, just drinking it all in, in wonderment. It is like Disney for the vices. We arrived back at the Venetian and found a classy bar in which to spend our $100 drinks voucher. This is almost exactly the same amount as the ‘resort fees’ that the hotels charge for seemingly nothing other than to annoy everyone. We could call it quits this time….. By the time the voucher was spent, so were we, and we again resisted the call of the tables and the slot machines and called it a night.

We all emerged on Sunday morning a bit brighter eyed and bushier tailed than the morning previous and had a better plan for breakfast: the French restaurant in the hotel. We checked out, stored the bags and after only a short wait, had a (mostly) good breakfast at ‘Bouchon’. Fed and caffeinated we finally did some gambling and hit the slot machines. These are our stats: Sara: $5 stake. lost it all. Martin: $10 stake, lost it all. Nick $40 stake, won $70. So overall we came out of Vegas having made a (gambling) profit of $15. Woohoo. High Rollers, Baby! Now, in already good spirits, we were ready for the next fantastical ‘only-in-Vegas’ activity. Shooting guns.

We had booked a visit to Battlefield Vegas, a shooting range on steroids, where you can fire almost any weapon combination that you can dream up. The courtesy shuttle that collected us from the hotel entrance was a canvas-sided Humvee with bench seating and the adrenaline flow was kick started by a white knuckle ride through the traffic of Vegas. We were chauffeured by an ex-soldier, barely looking at the road and definitely not considering the low co-efficient of friction of his passengers bottoms on the smooth wood bench seat as he accelerated and decelerated. Luckily there was a thin rope across the open back of the vehicle for safety…. We arrived at the range in one piece, signed the paperwork to say that we weren’t felons or mentally unwell, paid the money and entered the range. The whole place is staffed by ex-military. Still-young men who had done their 5 years of service, de-mobbed, then could not quite let it go. Still sporting buzzcuts and stomping around in para-military wear, playing with guns. We had all booked the ‘Platoon Package’, featuring weapons from the Vietnam War. A colt .45 handgun, an M16 machine gun, a grenade launcher and an M-60 (much bigger) machine gun. It was an amazing experience to fire such powerful weapons, but humbling to think that their primary function is not for the amusement of Las Vegas tourists, but to kill other humans. My ‘favourite’ weapon was the handgun. It was more tangible than the others, so familiar from TV and film but so alien to have it in my hands and be firing it. I can’t imagine being in the situation of using one in anger, and thankfully I never shall be.

The boys also spent some silly money to fire a Mini-gun. This is a mounted machine gun that fires 100 rounds in 4s. Our instructor said firing it for the first time is like another memorable ‘first time’. Huge expectation, very exciting and all over very quickly. I’ll have to take his word for it. We managed to resist spending $2500 to drive a tank over a car and, clutching our shredded targets, we were delivered back to the Strip in a less scary fashion. We collected our bags and were in good time to catch the shuttle back to Sam’s Town. As Monday was a public holiday, Martin had an extra night with us and was to be our honoured 2nd overnight guest in the Tin Can. You can read about it. You can see the photos. But nothing can quite prepare you for the magnificence of the beast until you see it in the flesh! Isn’t that right, Mart??!! From the Venetian to the dinette bed of a small habitable box. It was a weekend of accomodation extremes. We gave him the (very short) guided tour, installed him on the sofa and we had a few hours of down-time before the next activity.

Sunday evening took us to Downtown Vegas. This is where the original hotels and casinos are. It is just as glitzy, but less glamorous and is where the really weird and wonderful hang out. It has the pedestrianised Fremont Street over which is suspended the world’s largest screen.

It has Slotzilla, the world’s largest slot machine which is 11 stories high, and from which you can zip-line under the aforementioned screen along Fremont Street. it has countless bars and restaurants including the bizarre, ‘only in America’, Heart Attack Grill. All customers must don a hospital robe and wrist band on entry, the ‘nurses’ take your ‘prescription’ and the menu features delights such as endless Flatliner fries cooked in lard and an 8 patty cheeseburger. If you weight 350 pounds or more, you eat for free. If you don’t finish your meal your nurse will spank you with a paddle. We didn’t eat here, instead we found a lovely little Mexican restaurant up the road and our very delicious dinner and margaritas whilst watching the lunar eclipse out of the window. A good spot on many counts. We couldn’t muster the energy for another late night and the end of our meal saw us calling an Uber and taking our three mid-to-late-40s selves ‘home’. We constructed Martin’s deluxe, nearly-long-enough-for-a-grown-man bed from the dinette booth and all crashed.

After a slow moving morning we headed back to town and the fun continued with a mini-golf challenge. We found a course in the basement of one of the Strip hotels. Dimly lit with Twilight Zone theme and decorated with luminescent paint, the UV lights not only picked up the course features, but also any shoulder dandruff. Took me back to my black-clad night clubbing days of the early 90s. I lost, by the way. Martin came second. And Nick? Not important. (Such a gloater). Then it was lunch time. Time for another meal. We walked over to Holsteins Shakes and Buns in the Cosmopolitan Hotel, allegedly serving the best burgers on the Strip. The verdict? We can confirm that they are pretty darn good.

We ate too much, obviously, and then unfortunately had to bid farewell to Martin. We saw him into a cab to the airport and then sloped back to TC to rest and digest.

We hadn’t had the wildest of Vegas weekends, but we had had a lot of fun. We had eaten and drunken more than is healthy. We had spent a reasonable amount of money, but had won against the casino. We had gained a good sense of what this town is about and lost a bit of sleep, but not gained any regrettable facial tattoos, babies or tigers or lost any teeth or members of our party to kidnapping. A weekend was more than enough, but perhaps one weekend in a lifetime isn’t.