Archives for 2014

Jan 07 2014

I’ve never seen that before

I’ve been coming to this park for years, partly in a park this big there’s always an opportunity to see something new—if you just make the effort to look. The rangers and volunteers who staff the visitor center, and the people you can find camping in the less-traveled areas, are a great source of tips.

Yesterday I pulled Alex away from his computer to get out for “an adventure.” We decided to do a little off-roading near 17 Palms, a palm oasis that’s a couple of miles off S-22, starting at the primitive Arroyo Salado campsite. The roads are always sandy, potholed, and occasionally a bit “technical” requiring some driving skill to avoid getting stuck. None of the roads I’m going to talk about are passable with a 2 wheel drive vehicle, or any vehicle that doesn’t have high ground clearance. I mention this because we still remember the Tale of the Sinking Dutchman, who thought that a Subaru Outback constituted a suitable conveyance on the local trails. It has become a favorite campfire story among the 4WD owners.

The Mercedes GL is a remarkably capable off-road vehicle. I know that probably 99.9% of owners never take them off pavement, but they should give it a try. We’ve off-roaded with ours in many places over the years, and it has always been surprisingly good it, despite its bulk and street tires. I’m selective about where we go because I don’t want to strip the paint off by rubbing a piece of sandstone, and I sure don’t want to get stuck.

17 Palms was very nice, but I’d seen it before and after a few minutes of marveling at this strange palm oasis (the result of an underground water supply) we decided to press onward to a place we’d never been: the “Pumpkin Patch.”

This is an area of “concretions”, which are basically like pearls made of natural cement. Wet sand sticks to a “seed” object like a pebble, and becomes cemented to it. Wind erosion shapes the concretions as they gradually become exposed to the surface, hence the pumpkin shape.

Pumpkin Patch is in the adjacent Ocotillo Wells Off-Highway Recreational Vehicle Area, which is a long way to say that it’s where the ATV’ers and motorcyclists are allowed to ride. We met up with a few of them and they tipped us off to a hidden spot where supposedly there were “statues” made of rock. They weren’t sure where exactly they saw it, and sent us on a wild-goose chase down the Pumpkin Patch Trail.

I can now attest that this trail is passable by cars … but I wouldn’t recommend it unless you really like off-roading in tricky conditions and have the right vehicle. It’s really Jeep country. Since Alex and I were, uh, “rather concerned” by the conditions as we slowly drove through, we didn’t stop to take photos, but we probably should have. If you drove this trail in a Jeep you would not believe that we’d done it in a Mercedes GL.

Of course we never found the rock statues, but by the time we escaped Pumpkin Patch Trail and settled into the relatively flat washes, we didn’t really care. It about another 90 minutes to work our way out of there and back to the pavement of S-22, plus time for a stop at another spot we’d never seen before: Vista Del Malpais.

Alex called Vista Del Malpais “the best view in the park,” and I think he might be right. It’s a lot like the view from Font’s Point but even more panoramic. The Salton Sea is visible to the east, badlands spread out in front in Technicolor beauty, and mountains ringing three sides. It really can’t be fully captured in a single photo. Going to Vista Del Malpais is mandatory if you really want to appreciate it, like seeing Grand Canyon in person.

After all that, it seemed like a good idea to head over to the Palms At Indian Head Hotel for a burger by the swimming pool.

Just as the sun was setting behind the mountains, Alex & Charon put on a show for all the RV’ers in their encampment (about 1/4 mile from my site) and for anyone else who cared to show up. This is the same show they’ll be doing at Alumafiesta next month in Tucson, full of sword swallowing, fire breathing, and other specialties of the sideshow arts. I’ve seen it probably eight times and I still love it. From the reaction of the crowd (from age 3 to 60+) it was clear they loved it too.

Today’s plan is much like yesterday’s plan: no plan. We shall see what happens. It’s another beautiful day in Borrego Springs CA (sorry to all of you trapped by the snow & cold right now), and probably it is my last day before heading homeward, so I’m going to try to make the most of it.

Jan 06 2014

Out in the desert

Yesterday I relocated the Caravel out to the open desert, just beyond the boundaries of town. No more full hookup for me on this trip. The Caravel’s systems all worked beautifully while I was in the state park campground for two nights, and so the next step is to test everything in boondock mode (without hookups).

I’m very pleased with the way the trailer is finally working out, after years of tweaking it. There are still things I’d like to improve, and I suppose there always will be, but it is eminently usable right now. I’d like to get the main door to open and close more easily, and it needs a 12v power outlet somewhere, and perhaps a couple of USB power outlets by the dinette. Stabilizer jacks would be nice, as would a vintage-style awning. Oh, and while I’m at it, a discrete rooftop antenna for cellular Internet, an easier way to convert the gaucho to a bed, a lighter dinette table, and I’m sure I can think of many other things too …

Somehow I doubt I’m going to get to all of those projects, at least not until I start using this trailer on a more routine basis. The Caravel is a fun trailer for one person, but not highly practical. You can do only one thing at a time in it. You can cook, eat, sleep, shower, or work—pick any one, and put everything away before switching to the next. There just isn’t room to leave anything out.

When Eleanor and spent our first night in this trailer, back in August 2003, we were traveling without Emma and found the Caravel to be delightful. It rained that first night, and I remember feeling wonderfully encompassed in the tiny aluminum shell while the rain pattered on the roof. Later when we traveled with Emma (age 3) it never seemed too small, probably because our point of comparison was a tent. Today I think I would describe it as “romantic” for two if you like cozy surroundings. (I mean “cozy” in the real estate sense: small.) The three of us no longer fit in it, at least not at the same time.

The real point of a vintage trailer like this, if we’re going to be brutally honest here, is that it attracts lots of admirers because it’s just so darned cute. Everyone comes over and admires it. I give a lot of tours, so I feel obliged to try to clean it up every morning just to be ready for the possibility of someone wanting to peek inside. Being so small, it doesn’t take long to see it all, in fact you can see it all just by leaning in the front door.

Being out here in the desert is much quieter than the state park campground. By unspoken agreement, the RVs parked out here are scattered very widely unless they are deliberately camping together, so my nearest neighbors are Brian & Leigh about 100 feet away. Stevyn & Troy are probably 200 feet away, and other than that I am mostly surrounded by open space and dry creosote bushes. I prefer it, these days, to a campground, even though the Caravel isn’t optimized for boondocking.

It’s not bad even with only one battery, because the trailer doesn’t need much power. I converted all the lights to LED and so the only significant long-term power draws are the circuit board in the refrigerator (even on gas it will use 6-10 amp-hours per day) and the laptop. To make up for that, Brian has lent me his portable solar panel, which generates 120 watts peak, and that’s more than enough to recharge my daily needs, in about an hour.

There’s no furnace in this trailer either, just a catalytic heater which uses no electricity. The past two nights have been balmy, which is pretty rare right now since the eastern half of the country is in the deep-freeze. I hadn’t even needed to turn on the heater until last night when the overnight temperature dropped to 35 degrees F. Around 5 a.m. I finally couldn’t stand it and fired up the catalytic heater, and then of course I couldn’t get back to sleep so I ended up at dawn taking pictures. That wasn’t really so bad, especially later when I found a photo in my email from my friend Charlie showing his home in Indiana covered by 10 inches of snow and temperatures dipping to -14 degrees F.

Today’s plan is to roam around the park with Alex, rather aimlessly. We plan to buy a Julian apple pie, otherwise it’s a solid plan of do-nothingness. Last night a few of us went to Font’s Point to see the badlands at sunset, when they are just stunning, and I think that set the tone for the next few days. We’re just going to take in the beauty of this place and not worry about agendas. Or anything else.

Jan 04 2014

The bandwidth war

Traveling solo in the Airstream Caravel, and now parked in a lovely desert state park, you would think that my thoughts would go to poetic descriptions of the desert flora, or reflections on solitude. But in fact I’ve been thinking about wireless Internet.

Here’s why: the phenomenon of mobile working-class people living in motorhomes and travel trailers has really begun to gain momentum. When we started traveling full time in 2005 and I was working on the magazine, I rarely ran into anyone who was doing the same thing. Part of the reason was that cellular Internet was not so great, with “2G” networks in this country and connectivity so slow that I would find a Panera Bread if I needed to do serious downloading. Campground wi-fi was spotty and indifferently supported by the campgrounds, meaning that usually it didn’t work. Some traveling friends used satellite connections on tripods, and if you’ve ever seen the rigamarole involved in setting one of those up, and then suffered the tedious upload speeds, you can understand that they were really desperate.

A few years later it was an entirely different situation, and now in 2014 we have fairly high-speed cellular all over the country, and with usable signal in places we could only fantasize about a few years ago. A small industry has sprung up to provide us with high-gain antennas, cellular-compatible routers, wi-fi extenders, and signal boosters. Even campground wi-fi has gotten a little better (although still terribly unreliable on the whole). The bottom line is that anybody can get online almost anywhere.

And so we are. Lots of us. The numbers of “knowledge workers” living in RVs and traveling nomadically seems to have skyrocketed. I don’t think anyone really knows how many of us there are, since we are hard to track, but I see them in greater numbers every year. They are easy to spot by their relative youthfulness, the fact that they stay inside most of the working day, and because of the cluster of antennas on the roof. Even people who aren’t reliant on a job have begun to regard Internet connectivity as essential as oxygen, and I see them too, watching Netflix on their laptop at night and using Skype to talk to the grandchildren.

The result is that in many nomad hotspots, the network still sucks. It’s just like 2005 right now in Anza-Borrego Desert State Park, in terms of Internet quality, not because of any fault of Verizon or AT&T, or the state park management, but simply because too many people are inundating the network. A few years ago on the 3G network I was flying along, getting work done efficiently because I was the only person in the park who was goofy enough to sit in my trailer on a nice day and work on the laptop. Everyone else was sensibly out on a hike, or touring the park, or starting their campfire. Now a bunch of them are sitting inside their trailers and watching YouTube. The result is that it took three minutes for me to load a simple web page this morning.

I drove over an area just east of Borrego Springs, where the border of the state park and some fortuitous geology have combined to create an ideal free camping spot for mobile workers. Two years ago at this time of year the area had a scattered of RVs, and perhaps a quarter of them were working folk. The rest were just out for vacation, or retired and living cheap off the grid. Today, I found over a dozen RVs out there sporting big rooftop antennas for collecting wi-fi, satellite, cellular signals—and inside, people with laptops, smart cell phones, iPads, etc. Many of those people will report to work on Monday, and they need Internet to do that.

But the network … alas. It just doesn’t have the oomph to reach out there and give everyone high-speed Internet. This has spurred a sort of arms race, because he who has the biggest antenna and booster setup will get a stronger signal and hence more bandwidth. It has also spurred a land grab, because only a few spots exist in that part of the desert that can really get a good line-of-sight view to the cellular tower in Borrego Springs. He who has the highest spot on the ridge gets more signal, too.

When I talked to a few of the people who have been there a while, they were considering relocating to better spots. Keep in mind that all the spots offer the same desert dust, creosote bushes, jackrabbits, and solitude. The only reason to move is to get signal, and moving is a giant pain because they’re already very settled into their spots. They won’t move the rig for something like water (they’d rather pay a day-use fee to use the showers in the state park), but they will move the rig for Internet. So you can see how important it is to them.

Campground managers I have talked to recently tell me that they can’t keep up. Everyone shows up with a computer these days, and often they also have smart phones and tablets, each of which wants to connect to the campground wi-fi. One manager said he had spent $20k in the last month upgrading the campground system and upgraded the data plan to the maximum available, and it still wasn’t enough. So the next step is for campgrounds to start blocking certain services, like streaming video (Netflix, Hulu, YouTube, etc), streaming audio (Skype, iChat, etc). That won’t make customers happy; they see wi-fi as a right. They view blocking as an unfair restriction, like telling you that you can use the campground water for drinking but not for showers.

Meanwhile, I’m back in my 2005 “work-around-the-slow Internet” mode. I’m only doing the bare minimum that I need to do online, because otherwise I’ll be staring at my computer forever. Anything that takes serious bandwidth will get done at dawn, before all the kids start watching cartoons, and before the workers who are operating on east coast time start teleconferencing. The blog doesn’t have pictures (but I’ll get some later). I’m saving a list of things that require high-speed Internet (like big file uploads) and I’ll do those at some public wi-fi spot in town.

Another good trick is to use the smart phone instead of the laptop. Mobile apps are designed for narrow bandwidth, and you can do quite a lot with a tablet or phone. For things like banking, short emails, and social network updates, today’s smart phone apps are definitely a great way to go.

This bandwidth situation reminds me of the constant battle between hardware engineers and software engineers. Ever since computers were invented, software engineers have always wanted to design programming that outstripped the capabilities of the hardware. This spawned a famous saying (at least in computer geek circles): “No matter how clever the hardware boys are, the software boys piss it away.” This is why your new 2013 computer doesn’t boot up faster than your 1998 computer, even though the hardware is nearly 1,000 times faster.

It’s the same with the network. The 4G LTE network I’m using can be up to 30 times faster than the 3G network it replaced, but we’re all using a lot more data than before, too. In 2008 we had a couple of laptops, one of which was rarely used. Now we have six mobile devices and when we are traveling all of them are heavily used. We’re hardly unique in that respect, especially among travelers.

The problem is worsened by the software boys’ relentless attempts to get us to do everything “in the cloud.” This means all of our commonly used applications automatically connect to the Internet to check for updates, download advertisements, and synchronize files. This is frustrating when you are paying for every gigabyte of data, and it slows things down. I make it a mission to find and kill programs that insist on sending large amounts of data without explicit permission. You’d probably be surprised how many there are on your laptop and cell phone.

I don’t expect this problem to get much better. Cellular networks have come a long way, but as they gain, there’s always some new application that will suck up every bit of excess bandwidth plus some. The “arms race” for serious mobile workers will continue.

This trip I’m not going to be a contender in the battle, because I’m in the Caravel and it doesn’t have a rooftop antenna nor a signal booster. It also doesn’t have a solar panel, so I’m limited to what I can do with one little Group 24 battery. When I move to the boondocking spot among all those hard-core mobile workers, my best move will be to go for a hike somewhere in the vast desert where cell signals don’t penetrate anyway. So that’s what I’m going to do … tomorrow.

Jan 01 2014

Readying for a solo mission

After a few weeks of concentrating on non-travel stuff, I’m ready to get out on the road again–and back to a favorite destination.

For the several years we had a tradition of spending time in the Anza-Borrego Desert State Park around New Year’s Eve. It has always been a relaxing experience, slightly tinged with magic on those cold dark desert nights, where coyote howls are more common than fireworks or music. We always ran into friends and fellow Airstreamers on that trip, and during the days we hiked and explored the back roads, badlands, washes, and mountains of the park.

Two years ago the tradition was broken when our disc brake actuator failed, preventing us from leaving the driveway. Last year, we elected to stay home and see Paula Poundstone at Tucson’s downtown Rialto theater. It seems like the spell that drew us annually had finally been broken.

Part of that is the result of changing circumstances. We’re all older now, and we’ve got more going on in our lives than ever before. Priorities change. Hard decisions have to be made about how to spend time and money. Eleanor and Emma have obligations near home for the next couple of weeks that they can’t shirk. But for me, there’s still a faint siren song I can hear from Anza-Borrego, and as winter deepens the song gets a little louder.

So this year Eleanor has encouraged me to take the trip solo, in the tiny 1968 Airstream Caravel. I rarely travel via Airstream without my family, so at first I resisted. This is something we’ve always done together. Unless I have a defined goal for the trip, I always feel like I’m just wasting time and fuel driving hundreds of miles solo. It feels lonely and strange to be camping out in the desert by myself, although know people who love doing that, for the privacy and peacefulness.

I’m trying to capture that spirit as I gear up for this trip. Perhaps while I am out there I will find inspiration in the expanse, and write something fantastic and new. Perhaps I will meet new friends and have an adventure out in the wilderness. Maybe I’ll finally get a good photo of a scorpion or tarantula (probably not—wrong time of year).

At least I know that a few friends will be there as well. I’m planning to meet up with Brian & Leigh from Aluminarium, which is always fun. They have become hard-core boondockers and it’s fascinating to see them working their high-tech jobs in the open desert half a mile from the nearest road.

I’ll also spend a few days in the desert with Stevyn & Troy, who are new to Airstream full-timing and boondocking. I feel slightly responsible for them because last September when we stayed at their home in Missouri, we encouraged them to try full-timing and now they are. With Brian & Leigh’s help, we are going to give them a practical taste of “Boondocking 101” for a few days. It will be a steep learning curve for them, but fun for us to pass on the knowledge. If you are a Airstreamer who will be in the Borrego area this weekend or next week, let me know and I’ll send you the coordinates.

While prepping the Caravel the past few days, I’ve been feeling like a total noob. The Caravel hasn’t been used by me since October 2011, and it has undergone quite a bit of renovation work since, so it isn’t pre-packed for travel like the Safari. As a result, I have to think carefully about everything that will be needed for the trip: tools, clothes, food, hoses, kitchen supplies, office equipment—everything, right down to the tow ball. (The Caravel tows on a ball, whereas the Safari uses a square “stinger” for the Hensley hitch.) It’s amazing how much stuff I take for granted because the Safari is so well set up for full-timing, and always kept prepped to go. Half the time I can’t even remember where things are supposed to go in the Caravel.

Eleanor has been helping in her usual way, by providing me with abundant food and remembering to check for the practical items that I would typically forget. (“Dish soap and a sponge? Oh yeah, that.”) Together we will get it done and I’ll be well-equipped in the end, but it is taking much longer than I would have thought to pack a 17-foot trailer for five or six days of bachelor travel. (Yes, I’m bringing the TBM gear, too!)

You might recall that a few weeks ago I finished a project to completely re-plumb the Caravel’s fresh water system. I also had a new power hitch jack installed, and new safety chains. And earlier in the year I replaced the propane regulator and associated hoses & hardware. Part of the reason for taking the Caravel to Anza-Borrego is to road-test all that work. It would be much easier to take the Safari, and the fuel economy isn’t much different for the big trailer, but Brett will be borrowing the Caravel next month during Alumafiesta so I’d like to have it fully debugged before he gets here. A few hundred miles of towing plus five or six days of camping should shake out the bugs, if there are any. So part of my packing list is a bag of tools and a box of leftover plumbing supplies. If the plumbing springs a leak, or a gas line needs to be tightened, I should be able to fix it even in the middle of nowhere.

Really, the only part that worries me is the fresh water system. Leaks are so frustrating and can be subtle, yet devastating. I tested the plumbing again this week and everything seems fine: no leaks, no problems. The final step for that system is to sanitize, which is easy. (The procedure is described on p. 59-60 of The Newbies Guide To Airstreaming.) I took care of that yesterday, and today I’m going to finish most of the packing and do a little dusting inside the cabinets too. Every time I get in there to pack things I come out with dusty hands; the poor Caravel has sat unused for far too long.

And of course there’s all the stuff that I will have to check on the trailer itself, like the tire pressure. It all amounts to a lot of prep work for a short trip. I’ve concluded that it’s really much easier if you use your Airstream frequently, like we do with the Safari. Leave it ready to go as much as you can, keep the batteries charged and the cabinets stocked with non-perishables, have a dedicated set of tools and utensils that never leave the trailer, and you’ll be on the road that much quicker. We are starting to work toward that with the Caravel.

The trip will begin on Friday with a long-ish drive to Borrego Springs, CA (380 miles). I’ll have Internet even in the boondock sites, and probably lots of time to write, so a few blog posts from the road are likely.