Mexico Day Trip

Corn rows while you wait

Los Algodones, Mexico, is a short trip from Yuma, Arizona, and only about 55 miles from where we are staying. Most folks park on the US side and walk in. Given its easy access and the number of snowbirds in Yuma, it has become a haven for selling trinkets and certain items that tend to be expensive in the US and Canada, such as medicines, eyeglasses, and dental work.

A lot if the good sold is typical tourist stuff, cut sheet metal birds and butterflies, Mexican hats, and wool rugs, blankets, and serapes.

The new spectacles

On Friday, 1/25, we tripped over there with Rusty and Mary Ann Stuckey. Consuelo had a new eye prescription and wanted to get glasses there. She called ahead and made an appointment for 10:30, for which we would have been late if our friends had not reminded us that they were on Arizona time, one hour ahead of us. As it was, she didn't need an appointment, since we had a prescription with us. She picked progressive lenses in a medium priced frame, with Transitions solar coating for $139, most likely a bargain from prices in the states.

While the lenses were being made, which took 2-1/2 hours, we walked the streets looking at the goods and finding a few things for the grandkids. I picked up a Patriots cap for $10, and Consuelo found a large, colorful bowl to brighten up our kitchen in Maine when we get back there.

A lunch visitor

After that, we found a place to have some mediocre Mexican food in an open air restaurant, where we were swarmed with vendors selling anything they could carry to the table. At one point, Consuelo told me that a young Mexican boy had come up behind me while we were sitting at the table, probably looking for something to slip out of my pocket. I took out the cell phone and got a snapshot of him, which he found amusing.

After lunch, we picked up the glasses, and looked for a particular tequila drink that everybody seems to like, without success. Consuelo found a pretty blue bottle in the liquor store, which we bought, then discovered back home was much like the drink we couldn't find. We should have bought more!

Standing in line to return

The most annoying part of visiting Algodones is the wait to cross back over into the US. Customs had 4 guards on duty checking passports and documents with reasonable rapidity, but Rusty and I still waited in line for an hour and 20 minutes, the ladies waiting on a bench near the gate for us to saunter through the line.

Farm Smart Tour

Touring the fields

We've generally been loafing here in the Yuha Desert in Southern California. Yeah, we've done a few things to maintain the motorhome, kept up our 2-mile-per-day walking average, and Consuelo has knitted up a bunch of slippers for friends and to sell (about 15 pair). As a diversion, we signed up for a farm tour at the University of California Experimental Farm in El Centro.

California has a dozen or so experimental farms throughout the state. Most are in the central valley, an area that produces most of the 350 commodities in the state. Agricultural researchers offer up projects to develop strains of plants, test theories on controlling insects, or to study beneficial catalysts like nematodes. The university reviews the projects, selects appropriate ones for study, and provides infrastructure to implement them.

Siphoning lessons

El Centro is the desert farm, offering the dry hot environment and flood irrigation to each plot to grow plants and run tests. Most studies take place in 4-5 months, after which the ground is plowed under and made ready for the next crop.

Irrigation is an important factor in growing, and since El Centro receives less than 3 inches of rain every year, this farm is a good environment to study effects of varying water on the crop. In the Imperial Valley, irrigation water flows from the Colorado River via the All-American Canal which starts in Yuma, AZ. Farmers place water orders in the morning, and the next day the watermaster delivers the water via gates and locks and a few reservoirs to the little canal on the southwest corner of the farmer's land. The farmer opens his gate and manages it on his farm, routing it through his fields and starting siphon tubes to run it to specific rows. Every irrigated field in the Imperial Valley has drain tile installed under it at 10 foot intervals, which helps collect the runoff that seeps into the field and diverts it to the waste canals, which carry it away to the Alamo River and on to the Salton Sea.

Art picking, Sharon watching

We got a 10 minute overview, then split up into two groups of about 40 people. Our group went off to see the fields, hear about some of the specific experiments, see the weather station that feeds info to the world (changing weather in the Imperial Valley is a concern to the commodities markets in New York), and learn how siphon tubes are started and managed. We then stopped at the farm's vegetable plot, where we picked beets, carrots, and radishes. They took us back, where we had a chef salad for lunch and then switched with the other group. As they left for the fields, we went to the lecture hall where we heard about some of the specifics of agriculture in the valley. We also saw a movie about the management of water in the Colorado River, now a more valuable resource than ever. After that, they drew tickets for door prizes and we went home.

Consuelo picks Dikon Radishes

We ended up with two cabbages, two heads of cauliflower and lettuce, small bunches of carrots and radishes, and a good bunch of beets. We'll be hard pressed to eat it all, but we had fun, learned some things, and are really enjoying the salads and meals we're making from it. It is further inspiration to plant a garden in Maine when we get back there in the spring.

El Centro & Imperial Valley, CA

El Centinala
or Signal Mountain

January brings us to Rio Bend RV Park in El Centro, CA. This is a typical big snowbird park just 10 miles north of the Mexican border. We chose this one because our friends Art and Sharon Bonertz from Pincher Creek, Alberta, Canada were going to be here and we wanted to join them. As it turns out, their friends from Calgary, Rusty and Mary Ann Stuckey, are here too. And since Art & Sharon had an 11 day major breakdown in Utah on their way south, we had a lot of fun with the Stuckey's before Art & Sharon got here. And as it turns even farther out, this park is popular with Canadians, with about 50% of the residents coming from the cold north.

El Centinala (the Sentinel) or Signal Mountain, as it's called in Spanish, is a major landmark in the Valley, and sits on the Mexican border, about 10 miles to the south. DHS and Border Patrol vehicles are a common sight on the road next to the park, and residents have told us stories about illegal immigrants stopping in the park on their way north to use the pay phone.

Rusty in his poncho

Rio Bend has an "old" section and a "new" section. All three of us were booked into the old section, which had cramped, muddy sites. All three of us managed to change sites and we ended up together at the southern end of the park.

El Centro is the county seat of Imperial County, in the heart of the Imperial Valley. This flat valley is watered by the Colorado River by the All American Canal, the largest canal system in the world. The Valley grows alfalfa, is a major producer of winter vegetables. A couple hundred acres of broccoli is growing across the street from the park.

Rio Bend sunrise

While there are some pretty sights here, I am mindful that we are adjacent to the New River, which flows north from Mexico into the Salton Sea. The New River has been reported to be on eof the most polluted rivers in the world. That, plus the agricultural runoff from the Imperial Valley make the Salton Sea a briny mess, nearly unable to support fish. That area was once a thriving resort area, but is no longer.

Rio Bend also boasts a 9 hole executive golf course. Art and I will lose a few golf balls down there later this month. At the moment, he's flown back to Canada for a couple days as part of his official duties on the Insurance Commission in Alberta.


Rio Bend Golf Course

The Superstitions, Goldfield, Tortilla Flats

The Superstitions

Superstition is a big word in Apache Junction. The cause is the mountains pictured here, named by the local Indians as the Superstition Mountains. They are visible from our campsite in Superstition Buttes 55+ park, which is just down the road from Superstition Boulevard.

Watching the mountains is a little like watching the lake, or watching the ocean. If you look at them over time, you can envision different moods and feelings that the mountain range will offer, from glowing in the late afternoon sun, hiding behind low clouds, or standing strong in midday. Forgive me, but growing up in nothing more than hills in Massachusetts, and living in the flatlands of Minnesota for 20 years, I am amused and inspired by seeing these geologic wonders.

One day last week, Bill and Pat said, "C'mon, we're going to ride out to Tortilla Flats." This was fine with us, since Consuelo had heard about the place, without really knowing what it was, but wanted to go check it out. So we planned to have lunch out there, and packed into Bill's SUV.

Our first stop was Goldfield, the first town outside Apache Junction. Goldfield had been a goldmine town, now was a tourist attraction with western flair. They have their collection of buildings dating from the 1880's, including a hotel, a bordello, and a collection of merchant shops.

Goldfield cowboys in town

To keep the tourists amused, they stage a gunfight in the streets every couple of hours. They also offer horse rides, train rides, and you can pan for gold.

We spent an hour of so looking in the shops, watching the gunfight and Pat checked out the Bordello She is an honorary deputy sheriff back in Massachusetts, and when the Madam in the bordello told her that they waived the $2.00 entrance fee for law enforcement, she whipped out her badge and got her $2.00 back. Seems unfair to me.

The 4 of us with the wooden Indian

After leaving Goldfield, we continued up a tortuous winding road, route 88, which eventually winds its way up to Roosevelt dam. The next attraction along the way, normally, is Canyon Lake. But the lake was virtually empty, as it had been drained to perform routine maintenance on the dam. Roosevelt, Canyon and Saguaro are 3 of the man-made lakes on the Salt River, providing fresh water and electric power to the Phoenix area.

Downtown Tortilla Flats

Our next and final stop was Tortilla Flats, a former stagecoach stop along the Apache Trail, that became a town of 125 when folks were travelling back and forth to build Roosevelt Dam, back in early part of the 20th century. The current resident population is 6, and there is a restaurant, a general store, and a small museum.

The restaurant has a small but inviting menu of burgers and Mexican fare, reasonably priced. They were doing a good business, as apparently lots of folks make the winding trip out to see a little town at the end of the hard road.

Paintings in the ladies room

Pat and Consuelo went to the ladies room and saw these great paintings on the walls and stall doors. Consuelo came back and got my camera and took a few pictures. Thy were quite hilarious.

After lunch we checked out the museum, then made our way back to AJ to catch a nap.

Arizona fishing (Updated)

Saguaro Lake boat ramp

My one and only brother Bill set up housekeeping in Apache Junction, Arizona, last year. He found a home in a 55+ park and, with his girlfriend Pat. duplicated many of the things they have in Massachusetts: two cars, a boat, a really nice organ, and comfortable living. Bill worked long and hard, and late in life. I'm glad for him that he's able to enjoy life in retirement.

The Arizona boat is a 20' Sea Ray with a 190 HP Chevy inboard/outboard which he found on Craig's List. It was designed for skiing and such, but he's made some good modifications to use it as a bass boat. He took out the front seats, and built a raised floor in the front with a fishing seat, and added a 24v trolling motor with a Garmin fish-depth finder.

We planned to do some fishing here, as Arizona has numerous lakes and reservoirs, and has one of the highest boats-per-capita numbers in the nation. The closest is Saguaro Lake, one of three reservoirs on the Salt River, about 18 miles from his house.

Bill with the boat

So far, the fishing has been obstructed by Murphy. Before we arrived, he had the boat parked in the street in front of his house, and a neighbor's friend backed into it and bumped it. No apparent damage, but an auspicious start nonetheless. After we arrived, we took the boat to Saguaro Lake, but the boat would not start. He had planned on taking it in for service, as it has sat since last spring untouched. So, we went from the boat ramp to the shop in Tempe. A few days later he got it back. Again, we took it to Saguaro late one afternoon, and it started and seemed to run OK. We checked out the trolling motor, and that all worked fine. We only had about an hour, and found no fish.

After bringing it home, he discovered that there was excessive side-to-side play in the I/O unit, and after checking with the shop, determined that the likely cause was that the accident did cause some damage. He got an estimate for repairs, negotiated with the perp, and got a settlement. The boat went back to the shop. A week later it was back.

We spent a morning getting the depth finder mounted, and went back to Saguaro to check it all out. This time, all worked perfectly, and we still caught no fish. But we talked with others who were successful and got some tips on what lures to use, so we took a trip to Bass Pro yesterday, and we're ready to go fishing in earnest soon. Of course, it's almost time to leave here, so we'd better get out there!

For me, fishing in Arizona is Epiphany (defined as: "A sudden revelation of truth inspired by a seemingly trivial incident." as used by James Joyce). The revelation here is that it might be possible to catch fish when surrounded by saguaro cactus in the middle of the desert. Being there just seems strange, given my Massachusetts/Minnesota/Maine background.

Possible. Possible. We'll keep trying. It beats the alternative.

Update (12/26)

Saguaro Lake shoreline

We got a long day back at Saguaro Lake, with new lures, live bait, everything as we thought it should be. While the day was cool, the wind was light and the sun was bright and warming. I made us some sandwiches for lunch, and we got to the lake around 12:00 noon. We've done this enough times now that the launch is more or less routine. I backed the boat into the water, and Bill tried to start it, but it wouldn't start. The engine battery was nearly drained in the process.

Not wanting to throw in the towel, we asked a few guys who were putting in or taking out their boats if they had any jumper cables. We finally found a guy who did, and Bill pulled one of the trolling motor batteries and jumped the engine battery. Much to our glee, the boat started.

We headed out into the lake and found some fish. Tried all our lures. Tried lots of spots. The depothfinder displayed lots of fish, at various depths, but they didn't care for what we were offering them. Other guys on the lake said they were only catching very small fish, 6-8 inches.

We ate our lunch, trolled alomg the shoreline.

Bill trying to land a bush

ow, don't think that just because we caught no fish that we didn't catch anything. We both caught stuff on the bottom severl times each, resulting in the loss of a couple lures and a couple hooks with worms or anchoves. And Bill casts his lures much farther than he thinks he can, catching stumps and bushes on the shore.

But, that's why they call it fishing, not catching. And, honest, the live bait died trying for us.

Thanksgiving

We enjoyed Thanksgiving dinner at North Ranch with 100 or so Escapees. I wrote this ditty to use at dinner, but didn't get a chance, so I'll share it with you.

Thanksgiving

What makes the day called Thanksgiving
A reflection on the joys of our living?

Do we remember the pain and the fear
To heighten the thoughts of the things that we cheer?

Is the food and the drink a symbol of thanks
A token of having good flesh on our flanks?

Do we honor our forbears good fortune and luck
That brought them together and kept them so stuck?

Do we think of the soldiers that gave us their lives
Of their bravery and honor, that our country survives?

Maybe we cherish the God in our dreams
That saves us from harm and does what He deems?

That we were the prize at the end of the line
And we share our good fortune, with a dinner so fine?

Whatever the reasons that calls forth this feast
We pray thet it be not the last, nor the least.

Be festive, enjoy, turkey squash spuds and peas,
You've a room full of friends, all your fellow Escapees

And when I die....

And when I die is the title and introduction to a song by Blood, Sweat and Tears. I pause to ponder my own death here as an adjunct to our traveling. The trigger for this was my visit to the Pioneer Cemetery in Congress, Arizona.

Finding the cemetery is, in itself a challenge. If you are lucky enough to take Ghost Town Road out of Congress, there are signs along the way that will guide you through the desert over an unimproved road which reminded me of the trail we traversed finding the mission in Baja California, Mexico. Once you get into the heart of the desert, there are no more signs, and you wonder if you're about to get lost. Only the few previous tire tracks suggest that you're on the right track. And I could not find a ghost town. I did find the old abandoned Congress gold mine, though.

The sign at the gate says that the cemetery dates from 1887. The gate itself, a wrought iron affair with a flat spring latch that is half broken, has pulled the gatepost so that the gate opens with difficulty.

Once inside, the graves are arranged in rows, marked by ovals of stone. A small few have markers of some sort, but most are just stone ovals over grave sites, no name, no date, just an implicit suggestion that they must have lived here, and died around the turn of the 20th century.

And as I ponder this, I also consider the storied we heard in Scotts Bluff about the hundreds of pioneers who died along the trails, were buried in hasty graves, unmarked, unknowable by us today. Many of those were desecrated by wild animals in search of food. The memory of those souls carried by their friends and kin, those who survived the rest of the trip, to their western destinations. As the memories faded, so did the remnants of the lives of the brave wagoneers struggling to reach a brave new world.

By contrast, my own genealogical research was greatly aided by visiting the tombstones of my ancestors to identify and note their birth and death dates, tying them into vital records and histories to mark the connections in my hereditary past. How lucky I was to find those stones and trails to illustrate my ancestral past.

No such markers survive to guide the descendants of most of those buried in Congress. And for those who trace lineage to many pioneers on the trail, there is most likely not even a place to look for a marker.

And now, I too am roving around the country much like the pioneers. Should I pass on while traveling, what would be the thing to mark my place on this earth. I've been a faithful friend and servant of numerous folks, less so to some others. My family carries on the name that I research so diligently, and for me, that is a sufficient indicator of my having been here. Perhaps for them, and my wife, or more lasting memorial would be appropriate. I don't care. They should do what they feel good doing. For me, an unmarked grave along the trail is as good as anything.