127 miles from the nearest traffic light

On most days, you can see Mexico in the distance.

The enormity, vastness and isolation of the Chihuahuan Desert and Big Bend National Park became evident miles before we entered it. The nearest traffic light can be found in the town of Ft. Stockton, Texas, a mere 127 miles away. Neither broadcast TV stations nor cable are available in the park, and rumor has it that on a really good night, if you aim your antenna just right, you might be able to pick up the NPR station broadcasting out of Marfa, Texas 131 miles away. (Again, that's just rumor.)

A park ranger leads our volunteer class on a field trip to

Indian Head, an archaeological study area at BiBe.

The nearby town of Terlingua/Study (pronounced “STOO-dee”) Butte boasts a general store – small but with a surprising selection of items available to anyone willing to make the 24 mile drive from the staff/volunteer housing area at Panther Junction. (We'll add another 20 miles to that after we relocate to Persimmon Gap at the north end of the park this weekend.)

 Not everything is remote. The park houses several hundred people living in government rental housing or RV sites. In addition to us National Park Service volunteers, this includes paid staff from the Park Service, U.S. Border Patrol, and the concessionaire that manages BiBe's (short for Big Bend) lodge, restaurant, campground stores and the park's sole non-NPS run RV campground, as well as their spouses and children. There is a public K-8 school – average attendance 20 students - although high school students must travel to Terlingua to attend classes.

Infrastructure supporting staff and park visitors includes water management facilities, a post office, fire department and emergency medical services. The latter generally aid visitors in distress, though they did assist in the unexpected home delivery of a baby born to the wife of a Park Service employee the weekend we arrived.

Despite these signs of civilization, make no mistake. We live in the wilderness. Kong backs up to a large arroyo (dry creek bed) that serves as a kind of wildlife highway, allowing all manner of critters to pass from one end of our little barrio to the other.


In October, tarantulas wander the roads looking for love

(and hoping not to get run over).

So far, we've seen one as-yet unidentified snake (non-poisonous, thank you very much) and lots of javelina – a harmless, albeit seriously near-sighted animal whose desire to move closer to unwitting pedestrians in an attempt to see them is sometimes mistaken for aggression. Tarantulas searching for mates can be seen wandering the streets and even climbing the walls of buildings. One of our neighbors was driving his son to school and spotted a Mexican black bear and her cub as they darted out from behind a dumpster. And one of our orientation presenters shared news of her encounter with a mountain lion she caught lounging in front of her car.



Encounter of the coyote kind. Sprocket made it clear he

wanted nothing to do with this beauty!

While these encounters seem interesting to me and Leonard, I can't say Sprocket shares that interest. We spotted a coyote on our way back from a shopping trip to Terlingua. Sprocket, being the scent hound that he is, slept soundly on Truckzilla's back seat, that is until we moved downwind. Then, the dog's nose and survival instincts kicked in. He started barking and pacing frantically. Once he realized he had nowhere to run, our boy collapsed into a shaking pile of fur, unable to relax until we had put several miles between us and the predator.

(Who needs TV when you can watch Animal Planet from your window?)

Although we have not quite completed orientation, Leonard and I already sense that our three months here promise to be rich, rewarding and unique. What a way to spend retirement!



Signs of pre-historic life at BiBe. Shown here are remnants of a rock oven built by Native Americans who lived in the area as long as 12,000 years ago.

Petroglyphs like this make Indian Head a tempting target for poachers seeking relics for profit.

BiBe is full of breathtaking geological features. Its rock formations are too soft for the park to be considered a climbing destination.



BiBe is home to a rich diversity of plant and animal life. The Big Bend

mosquitofish exists in the pond shown along with two others at BiBe and

nowhere else on Earth.

This border crossing links BiBe to the remote Mexican village of Boquillas.

Bring your passport, and don't stay late. The crossing closes promptly at 6:00 p.m.

Visitors not wishing to walk across the Rio Grande to Mexico can take a ferry – actually, a guy in a row boat (top right) – to a collection of mules, horses and taxis waiting to carry them to Boquillas for lunch, souvenir shopping and sightseeing.

Over the centuries, a few hardy souls scratched out a living

on settlements that are now part of BiBe. Descendants still

visit some of the graves.

Sandstone formations at Ernst Tinaja, site of one of our orientation field trips. Stunning!

 

In dryer times when the water level drops, the slick, steep sides of Ernst Tinaja make accessing the precious water within it nearly impossible, even for the most cunning of creatures, as is evidenced by claw marks in the rock.



From point A to point B: the art of RV routing

LT walks off our temporary RV site, a

good thing to do before attempting to

park your rig.

We arrived at Big Bend National Park this past Sunday, none the worse for wear, to take part in a 12-day orientation. The orientation is designed to prepare volunteers for our role as park ambassadors and features presentations by and field trips with various Park Service experts. There is a lot to learn about BBNP, and as soon as it's over and I've had a chance to sift through my photos, I'll talk about our orientation experiences. Meanwhile, I thought I would share a bit about the unique challenges Leonard and I face as RVers with respect to route planning, what tools I (as chief navigator) use, and their limitations.

Any road warrior worth his or her salt knows about Google maps and GPS. Trouble is those were designed largely for use by drivers of cars, pickups and other smaller, lighter vehicles for which height, width, length and weight aren't a concern. Think about it. When was the last time you saw a sign that read “low clearance” and panicked because you weren't sure your cute little ride wouldn't come out the other side looking like a giant can opener had just ripped off its roof?

Not so for the larger RV's. It's definitely a case where size matters!

Rand McNally's GPS for RV's comes in handy, though it

does have some limitations when it comes to routing.

Early on, we discovered an RV-specific GPS made by Rand McNally. It allows you to enter the type and dimensions of your rig then calculates routes aimed at avoiding all those nasty RV unfriendly road features, like low overpasses, narrow tunnels and weak bridges. As GPS options go, this one's proven workable for us, the occasional head-scratching “why did it tell us to make three right turns to go left” not withstanding. I've learned (the hard way) to resolve those situations by comparing Rand McNally's routing to Google maps in advance of a trip.

Not only will Google maps let me double-check the GPS' work, it also allows me to create a route map of my own which I can save on Google's servers (and return to for future reference) or print, either on paper or as a file on my laptop.

In addition, we picked up a print version of Rand McNally's road atlas for use when the high-tech gadgets just aren't practical. It also comes in handy when your driver's screaming, “This isn't the way to Tulsa! Why are we going north when Tulsa's south!” in which case you can pull out the book, flip to the appropriate map and point out that you, in fact, have not lost your marbles and are indeed en route to your destination. (Ask me how I know this.)



Google maps let you create and save route maps. It's great for

reviewing turn-by-turn directions before hitting the road. This

one's from my 2011 trip to Ireland.

Our journey from Mt. Rogers to BBNP took us over nearly 1,300 road miles. Thanks to all of the above, we are now nestled into our site at the place known as Panther Junction. We'll remain here during orientation then shift to another locale at the park entrance.

Big Bend NP promises to be a fascinating place to explore. I look forward to sharing lots about our experiences here, starting with my next post!

 

Under pressure

Grindstone Campground as of last

Sunday - an inauspicious ending to a

great experience.

Our situation at Mt. Rogers became somewhat fluid post closure of our campground. After originally being given at least a week from closure to leave, we were allowed to stay just four days.

This wouldn't have been a big deal save for the fact that once we knew we had a whole week left, Leonard and I made a few online purchases to be delivered to us at the campground. Come departure time, one package was still AWOL. Fortunately, a very kind, understanding U.S. Postal Service employee in Troutdale, VA offered to forward the parcel to my sister, who will then send it to me.

(What would the world be like without cooperative relatives?)

This tire pressure monitor lets us know

when the 5th-wheel's tires are low on air.

Thursday's exodus began smoothly enough. Thanks to a neat little towing maneuver shared by one of our fellow volunteers (a retired long-haul trucker), Leonard pulled Kong from our rather tight RV site without breaking a sweat – or hitting the assorted boulders, ditches and trees lining his route. We bade our Grindstone Campground buddies farewell and began our westward journey.

Then, as these things go, we hit a bit of a snag. It started pre-departure with the revelation that our 10-year old somewhat wimpy Craftsman air compressor was not long for this life. Even if it weren't about to crap out, it lacked the power to inflate Kong's heavy-duty Goodyear H-rated tires. Leonard cruised the information highway and found what looked like a suitable replacement: a more powerful Craftsman compressor. Once that compressor arrived, he gleefully headed out the door, pressure gauge in hand, expecting to add enough air to the tires to return them to safe towing levels.

High-quality tires make for
safer RV travel.

As with any vehicle, maintaining proper air pressure is vital to safe operation. Low pressure increases tire heat, which damages them – at best, reducing their lifespan, at worst, causing a blowout. Not good! High pressure can stress tires to the point of blowout. Again, not good!

Knowing this, Leonard spent about an hour lying on the cold ground trying to maintain the connection between various tire valves and the compressor nozzle, his arms nearly numb for lack of movement. He returned to the warm confines of our rig, his mission unfulfilled and declaring our newly-delivered tool to be, “a piece of shit!” It seems the compressor still wasn't powerful enough to fill our tires.

Pending identification of a suitable replacement, we agreed a viable solution for getting us safely out of Virginia would be to stop at the nearest travel plaza and pump those babies right up. That would have worked fine were it not for the fact that the first truck stop we hit positioned its air station in a place we couldn't reach, at least not easily; the next two had broken air pumps.

Our first stop after leaving Mt. Rogers was a nice little park

in Harriman, TN on the shores of Watts Bar Lake. Sweet!

Adding to the pressure we were feeling about our under-pressured treads was the fact that during one of our failed inflation stops Leonard discovered that one of the special tire sensors we'd purchased from our manufacturer, ostensibly to alert us in the event of a rapid deflation, was itself leaking air. What's more, the special wrench needed to remove the sensor was neatly tucked away inside Kong's cabinetry, access to which was made impossible by the fact that it lay behind the living room slide which, like all our slides, remained closed during transit.

After about 10 minutes of driving, we confirmed that Leonard's quick re-capping of the sensor had stopped the leak. Otherwise, we would have had to pull off somewhere – preferably in a spot large enough to open the living room slide – then dig out that special wrench, remove the sensor, close the slide, then return to our route.

On our second morning of travel, we located a travel plaza with a working pump, sufficiently increasing the pressure on our tires and decreasing the pressure on us.



Visitors to Yuma, TN can check out

the site where the Battle of Parker's

Crossroads.

As luck would have it, we arrived in Yuma, TN only to discover that our microwave oven was not getting any electrical juice. How it that lucky, you ask? Well, while the campground's RV technician assessed the situation, Leonard struck up a conversation about our compressor woes. Turns out the tech has the same Craftsman compressor as the one we were about to return to Sears and shared a tip that will make ours workable.

The U.S. South remains proud of its Confederate roots.

He couldn't fix the power issue, so it looks like we'll be making a stop in Dallas to get that fixed. C'est la guerre.

Our current road trip will take us through Tennessee and Arkansas. We hope to cross the Texas state line on Tuesday and reunite later in the week in the bustling metropolis of San Angelo with a couple of expat chums from our Costa Rica days. This reunion is further evidence that the world is getting flatter. Let's just hope the same won't be said of our tires.
 


Singing the furloughed volunteer blues

I've written in prior posts about how full-time RVers describe travel plans as being “etched in Jello.” Recent events have confirmed for me just how true this can be. Case in point: our current status volunteering for the U.S. Forest Service.

Uh, oh! Looks like this guy is learning to enjoy sleeping in.

Okay, buddy, just don't get used to it.

On Tuesday, day 1 of the federal government shutdown, our USFS contact visited us here at Grindstone Campground to explain the shutdown's effects on our living arrangement and volunteer duties. Grindstone is one of two Mt. Rogers area campgrounds being managed by a concessionaire under contract to the U.S. Forest Service. Our USFS contact explained that this campground was to remain open and that we could stay in our space “for now.”

Yesterday, day 3, we received word that the USFS is closing all campgrounds effective noon on Sunday. We can remain at Grindstone while camp volunteers close it for the season – an estimated seven to 10 days. After that, we're out!

Next stop: south Texas.

The Virginia Creeper Trail visitor centers closed on Tuesday, the original thinking being that they would reopen once federal operations resumed. We agreed to stick around through our last scheduled work date, Oct. 31, awaiting word of said resumption. However, in light of the fact that we won't have an RV space after mid-month, it seems we'll begin making our way towards Texas a couple of weeks ahead of schedule.

Meanwhile, Leonard and I continue to explore the local offerings. We'll get in a hike or two before we leave as well as take in a few area attractions.

What's more, we've taken up the ukelele. Perhaps I'll try my hand at song writing. Under the circumstances, a blues tune seems appropriate.



Ukelele time! It's virtually impossible to feel down in the

dumps while playing this happy little instrument.

Waiting

Shades of things to come. The annual

fall colors display draws thousands

of tourists to the Virginia Creeper Trail.

As we continue to avail ourselves of the various hiking and biking opportunities found at Mt. Rogers NRA, Leonard and I find ourselves awaiting the outcome of two events – one political, the other natural – each of which could profoundly impact us, albeit in distinctly different ways. I'll start with the more positive of the two, the upcoming display of Fall colors.
Logging practices of the early 20^th century nearly obliterated the diverse selection of conifers and deciduous trees indigenous to the Jefferson National Forest. And what human greed didn't destroy, Nature continues to work on vis a vis a blight that has all but effaced the American Chestnut from its native zones (and continues to thwart efforts of scientists hoping to save that particular species of tree).

One way to identify a tree is to look

at its seeds. These acorns are from

the Northern Red Oak.

Thanks to the foresight of politicians of earlier eras who created national forests and to the U.S. Forest Service now charged with managing them, the Appalachian woodlands are returning to their former glory days, and folks like Leonard and me are the beneficiaries of their vision.

Fully appreciating the arborial splendor of the JNF requires nothing more than a slight bit of curiosity and a pocket guide. We're using the National Audubon Society's Familiar Trees of North America (East).


Trees with imperfections were sometimes spared the woodsman's axe. The gnarled trunk of this old tree is a great example of art in nature. (I see a hand grabbing a chicken's leg. What do you see?)

We're hoping not only to become more savvy forest dwellers but also to be more helpful to what the locals refer to affectionately as “leaf peepers.” These are tourists who hit the northeastern U.S. each autumn in droves, hoping to catch the leaves at the peak of their transformation. This onslaught of onlookers promises to greatly increase traffic on the Virginia Creeper Trail, which will mean an increase in activity for us at Green Cove Station.



Eastern Hemlock – Unrelated to the herb used

to poison Socrates. Early European settlers made

tea from young leaves, and the needles were used

in root beer.

From what we're seeing, the peak display time could hit in the next week or so. It's something we're looking forward to, assuming we're still here to enjoy it. This brings me to the other looming event I mentioned earlier.

The U.S. Congress must act by midnight tonight to continue funding for the federal government past the current fiscal year's end. If this does not occur, most federal agencies, including the Forest Service, will suspend operations.

Depending on who you ask (and when you ask them), the visitor center Leonard and I are staffing will either close, or it won't. Also, the campground we're staying in will either close, or it won't.

Regardless, we're committed to turning this proverbial lemon into a more palatable alternative. After all, we still have Texas in our future, right? Ah, not so fast, Grasshopper! You see, the assignment awaiting us in Texas is at another federal site, Big Bend National Park. Under different circumstances, we'd just pick up stakes in SW Virginia and move to our next gig early. Only, that park would also close.



Fungus amongus. This tree, felled by a tornado that hit Grindstone

Campground in 2011, now provides nourishment for other organisms.

It's not like we lack alternatives. We could always use the extra time to take a more leisurely drive to Texas and explore the I-40 corridor more closely than our original timetable would allow. Or, we could just hightail it to Texas and hang out there.

Needless to say, the uncertainty of the situation is making life a little interesting. For now, we wait, fingers crossed in our rolling condo in the woods. As my mother used to say, “Beats a stick in the eye!”



Remember the good ol' days?

My mother used this mascara. Let's just say this wasn't one

of Maybelline's better products.

Hanging out in what is, effectively, a museum gives me plenty of chances to think about the past. The shelves and walls at Green Cove Station are covered with merchandise from the general store which, along with the building, was donated to the U.S. Forest Service in 1977. I sometime hear visitors waxing nostalgic about how nice it would be if we could all return to the “good ol' days” of, say, the 1950's when times were better, simpler.



The elimination of malaria in North America,

once a major killer here, stands as is one

of public health's greatest accomplishments.

Except if you were Black and only permitted to ride at the back of the bus or a woman unable to escape the clutches of an abusive spouse because he controlled the family purse or a parent terrified his or her child would succumb in the latest round of polio, diphtheria, or some other (then) unpreventable malaise, things were surely better than today. Laissez bon temps rouler!



Prince Albert, still in the can. Won't

someone please let him out?

Every generation has its “good ol' days,” and, reality aside, I admit it's fun imagining life in a different era. During a recent lull in activity at Green Cove Station, I indulged myself in a trip down memory lane, as evidenced by the accompanying photos. Anyone else remember these?

A magazine for 15 cents.



Whether you were constipated or just itching to make gun powder, the general

store at Green Cove Station had a cure for whatever ailed you.

Injector blades ranks up there with Tang and Jiffy

Pop on the scale of important modern innovations.



Telephone pole insulators doubled as 

chair coasters and candle holders.

Check out the label on this elixir. If you still coughed,

it didn't matter because you slept through it!



Before “Grand Theft Auto” there were...paper kites!



Before they made cute galoshes, there were these gems.

Boxers? Briefs? Try men's onesies!

 

GypsyCare, Part II: Finding physicians and dentists on the road

Relocating to a new city can be a real hassle, especially when it comes to finding new service providers It's one thing to try to sniff out a decent hair stylist or barber and quite another to do the same with doctors and dentists. Imagine doing that once a year - more if you need something other than the standard annual exams and screenings – and you'll get a sense as to just how complicated GypsyCare can be.

Our provider options are further limited by our decision to volunteer at national parks and forests. Public lands are typically situated in remote areas where care options for permanent residents, never mind vagabonds like us, range from spotty to non-existent.

We tried the obvious route – asking fellow volunteers and locals for recommendations – but found that problematic for a couple of reasons. First, most of our volunteer colleagues split their time between RV and traditional residence. Their regular docs practice hundreds of miles away, which doesn't help us at all.

Second, providers recommended by the locals aren't necessarily willing to add new, temporary patients to their already heavy patient loads.

The answer to our dilemma came via something AARP advises for uninsured/under-insured adults awaiting Medicare eligibility and about which I'd learned while working with the public health system in Kansas - Community Health Centers, or CHC's.

The U.S. Department of Health and Human Services contracts with providers for a variety of services, including exams for healthy and sick adults; complete care for pregnant women; and immunizations for children. Patients pay according to a sliding fee scale.

We discovered a CHC less than 10 miles from our campground. Our exams, conducted by a nurse practitioner, cost us $45 each, including blood tests.

I also received a referral for a mammogram, done at a nearby hospital. Out-of-pocket cost for that: $184 ($155 for tech and facility; $29 for radiologist).

Both Leonard and I were really pleased with the quality of care and will undoubtedly seek out a CHC the next time we need GypsyCare.

By the way, we could have paid for my expenses using my health insurance, but (as explained in last week's post) that would have necessitated traveling to South Dakota. You don't need a PhD in economics to understand why coughing up a couple of C-notes made way more sense than either driving or flying to SD just so someone could tell me I'm still capable of fogging up a mirror!

We've made appointments for semi-annual cleanings/exams at a dental practice about 20 miles away.

Coincidentally, the U.S. Forest Service here at Mt. Rogers held a first aid training for volunteers last week. Toss in a pocket knife and a glue gun, and maybe we don't need to see a doctor after all?