Where RV going to stay (once we get there)?

The time has come to think about departing San Antonio. We have enjoyed exploring this lovely city and its many historic, cultural and recreational offerings. May 1 is fast approaching, and we still have a lot of ground to cover before reaching Aztec Ruins National Monument. So, next Monday, the journey resumes.

Leonard, Sprocket and I will travel more than 1,700 miles of highway between March and May, passing through Texas, Oklahoma and Kansas before heading for northwest New Mexico. Trip planning for us has been fairly easy, mostly because Leonard and I have similar travel styles. Neither of us likes to be rushed - “Hurry up so we can get there and have fun, dammit!” is not something you'll hear from either of us – and we both enjoy travel for travel's sake, as opposed to seeing it as a necessary evil. That said, we also share a tendency towards inertia, whereby trip planning starts with one of us asking, “Where do you want to go?” and the other responding, “I don't know, where do you want to go?” Eventually, restlessness prevails, and we pull out the maps.

Deciding on what towns to stay in is one thing, choosing RV parking spots quite another. From the beginning, Leonard and I were keen to stick with facilities known to be well-managed, clean and safe with rates that fit our budget. As chief planner, responsibility for locating parking spots falls to me, and I rely on a combination of resources to get the job done. Here's a list of my “go to” sources:

 

* Good Sam RV Travel Guide & Campground Directory

In 2012, the Good Sam RV Club merged two widely-used directories, Woodall's North American Campground Directory and Trailer Life Directory, into a single guide. Most listings are for private parks, but some public campgrounds are also included.

While some prefer the print version, a recent RV industry survey showed that an increasing number of RVers (like me) are moving towards web-based publications. The search feature of this site makes it easy to sort out parks by city and amenities (big rig parking, swimming, etc.) and frequently includes a link to the park's own web site for a more detailed look. Plus, not having to worry about where you're going to store a giant book is a nice bonus.

 

The caveat here is that Good Sam RV Club is a business that relies to some extent on sponsorships for revenue. This may or may not influence the club's objectivity when it comes to rating parks.

 

* RV Park Reviews

This web site is a kind of Angie's List for RVers, relying on user-submitted comments to create reviews of private and public parks. If a park's manager treats guests like suspects in a robbery investigation or if the on-site workout room advertised as “full of equipment” turns out to be a small closet with a 1980's era treadmill squeezed in, you will hear about it here. You'll also learn about hidden gems where things like scenery and friendly management make up for amenities that a larger, newer park might have, such as a large, paved site or planned activities.

 

The caution here is that there's no vetting of comments. Anyone with an ax to grind can sharpen away. I find that comparing RV Park Reviews to other sources produces a check against attempts to bias these ratings, one way or the other.

 

* Google maps

Typing the name of a specific park into Google map's search will yield a map pinpointing the park's position and ratings, submitted by Google+ members.

Further probing via Google Earth lets me get a closer look at the prospective park and surrounding area. Knowing where the nearest railroad tracks are or just how low the branches on all those lovely trees surrounding a potential parking site hang comes in really handy (as do pruning sheers).

 

Using all the above, I identified our next parking spot. Goose Island State Park in Rockport, Texas gets good marks all round, including perhaps the most important rating system of all, the Timm Annual Budget Affordability Scale. That's one guide I follow very, very closely.

Google Earth view of Goose Island State Park campsites. No overhead obstructions or ground-level barriers to beware of. Just the Gulf of Mexico, straight ahead. Sweet!

Canines and molars

This past week, Sprocket, Leonard and I experienced woes related to (of all things) teeth. Hubby's and dog's arose from an encounter with a couple of aggressive dogs, mine from a failed root canal. I'm happy to say we all seem to be coming out of our respective ordeals “none the worse for wear.”

San Antonio's extensive system of walking/biking trails, like the Salado Creek Greenway,

is helping to build the city's reputation as a place to live an active lifestyle.

The week started with news that San Antonio would experience a stretch of warmer weather. This development inspired us to further explore the city's outdoor delights, including its miles of bicycle paths and famous River Walk.

All was proceeding blissfully until Sunday evening when Leonard, having completed a sunset stroll with Sprocket, returned with news of a different kind. While passing a nearby RV site, two Italian mastiffs, a breed of dog prone to attacking smaller dogs, decided to get a taste of our boy. Both managed to escape their tethers, and a brief battle ensued. What's more, in the confusion Sprocket had repaid his doggy daddy's devotion by nipping his hand! So much for bliss.

Evidence of Sprocket's canine attack. The dogs' owners managed to

restrain them quickly. Otherwise, this incident could have turned tragic.

A quick examination of our canine revealed two puncture marks on his neck, one of which was bleeding slightly (just enough to clean out the wound). After dabbing a bit of antibiotic ointment on the holes, I turned my attention to Leonard who shared that in the commotion of rescuing Sprocket the latter literally had bitten the hand that feeds him. Fortunately, that appears to have been nothing more than a painful reminder of the incident.

By the way, most, if not all, RV parks allow pets. Where dogs are concerned, the majority restrict the more aggressive breeds, like Italian mastiffs. The park we're staying in has no such limitation. Nonetheless, we reported the incident to management so they would at least know of a potential problem.

Meanwhile, I had my own worries. One of my molars – site of an old root canal – was staging an uprising. By Wednesday, what began as a minor annoyance would end with me and my abscessed tooth parting company.

The three of us are recovering nicely. I'm hoping that by week's end Leonard and I can resume our San Antonio explorations.

For now, I am trying to follow my periodontist's post-op instructions, which include drinking milk shakes and avoiding strenuous activity. Gee, doc, I'll try.

This bride was one of a dozen or so on Valentine's Day outside the Bexar County

Courthouse awaiting their turn before the judge.



Visitors to San Antonio's San Fernando Cathedral pass by this crypt containing remains of the legendary William Barrett Travis, David “Davy” Crockett and Daniel Boone.

The Luxury pub, located in a trendy San Antonio neighborhood along the River Walk, is built in recycled shipping 

containers. Dining is al fresco. Ride your bike or walk, and feel free to bring your dog!

 

Frost, friends and fine art in south central Texas

This past Sunday we departed Big Bend NP and began what will be a three-month meandering to Aztec Ruins National Monument, site of our next volunteer assignment.

Leonard & Kat admire this metal sculpture. A museum

docent showed us how to make it move.

First on our list of stopovers: the bustling town of San Angelo, Texas. Why San Angelo? It so happened that Kat, a good friend and fellow expatriate from our years in Costa Rica, was there visiting Margie, her mother. Not wanting to miss out on either the prospect of seeing our pals or getting a tip on where to find good eats – and isn't that what life's all about? - we set the GPS for the San Angelo KOA.
 

For the uninitiated, San Angelo (population about 112,000) offers the kind of amenities found in similar third-tier cities...and a few found only in larger ones. (I'll get to one of those in a minute.) Visitors will find a mix of shopping and dining options capable of satisfying most any heart's desire. The list of “what's going on in San Angelo” also featured a blast of Arctic air bringing yet another round of sub-freezing temps to the area.

 

Our first morning in San Angelo found Leonard scrambling to retrieve our water pressure regulator, the one he connects outside the rig to mitigate potential problems arising from excessive water pressure (a problem in some RV parks). Seeing as how we'd already lost one regulator to ice, we weren't exactly excited about forking out another $60 bucks to replace the replacement. The potential for freezing pipes and hoses is the stuff of which RV nightmares are made.
 

As for our visit with Kat and Margie, Kat steered us towards a fabulous Japanese-Korean restaurant where we dined our first night in town. The next day, Margie wisely chose to remain in the warm confines of her lovely home while Kat suggested a trip to the San Angelo Museum of Fine Arts. Off to the museum we went!

To be frank, my expectations going in were fairly low, the result of growing up in a place where people paid good money for paintings done by orangutans at the local zoo. (One need only look at the walls of any primate cage to know what those looked like.) I wouldn't have been at all surprised to find the museum's walls filled with images of poker-playing dogs or deceased celebrities immortalized on black velvet. Little did I know that we were about to discover a hidden gem in this small, historic town.

A sampling of SAMFA's glass and ceramics collection.

The museum building is a lovely, modern structure in San Angelo's river district . It houses a wonderful permanent collection of ceramics, paintings, sculpture and photographs representing a variety of artistic styles. SAMFA features special exhibits, too, like their current offerings showcasing works of regional artists, including painter H.W. Caylor and sculptor Gib Singleton.

We spent a good hour marveling at all the museum had to offer then followed that with a stop at a nearby Starbucks to consume large cups of steaming hot brown liquid before returning Kat to her mom's to bid farewell in advance of our departure for San Antonio the next morning.

Soon, hopefully, that famous southern Texas winter weather will return. In the meantime, Leonard and I will console ourselves with one simple thought: at least it's not snowing!

Steer horns form the base for this chair. (And, no, we're

not getting one for the RV!)

Harvey Wallace Caylor lived the frontier life and ranks among the American West's great artists.

Gib Singleton trained at the Chicago Art Institute. His sculptures

are displayed at some of the world's most notable museums. 

SAMFA lets regional artists show their talents. Note the creative recycling of used paint tubes. (I'm sure this painter isn't the first to want to throw a hatchet at his work.)



Art of the future? This bracelet was produced by a 3-D printer. Watching that printer in action was like seeing something out of Star Trek.

 

Nearing the finish line

Our three-month assignment at Big Bend National Park ends this Friday. I confess to having mixed emotions about leaving. While I won't miss being so far removed from civilization, I will miss the grandeur of the Chihuahuan Desert, the beauty of the Chisos Mountains, and the majesty of the Rio Grande. I will also miss the Park Service staff and volunteers with whom we've worked. What a great bunch of people!

Activity at Persimmon Gap visitor center slowed a bit after the holidays. The change of pace afforded me the opportunity to participate in a different kind of activity, the Big Bend 50/25/10 Ultra Run. This is one of those “you mean people actually PAY to do that?” experiences that takes runners over a course that would send shivers down the spine of any driver of a low-clearance vehicle. Entrants opt for distances of 10, 25 or 50 kilometers. (That's 6.2, 15.5 and 31 miles, in case you slept through class the day they taught the metric system). They plop one foot in front of the other through Big Bend NP's roughest back roads to the finish line.

A couple of 50K runners pass our station. Eight miles

down, just 23 more to go!

Before you go thinking I was actually foolish enough to enter this grueling event, I should explain that my participation was limited to pouring cups of electrolyte-replenishing beverage and cutting bananas into bite-sized pieces so that those among us who still have knees could live out the day.

 

Feeling it our duty to spur all those weary athletes on towards completion of their quest, the two of us assigned to aid station #2 cheered every runner as if we were a throng of five. I met hundreds of people, each of whom moved me emotionally for their grit and determination. The most awesome participant I encountered was a 70-year-old woman who looked almost as fresh midway through her course as did many of her 30-something counterparts. What a gutsy lady!

 

Leonard and I now direct our attention to the next finish line in our own race, ticking off the items in our two-page departure checklist. He will be busy prepping Kong and Truckzilla – those tires don't inflate themselves, you know – as I reorganize Kong's contents with an eye towards balancing weight load and safeguarding our belongings for next week's “rolling earthquakes.”

Aid station #2. One runner called it, "an oasis in the desert."

On Saturday, we wander 

north to San Angelo, Texas to spend a couple of days with the fabulous Fabulista de Costa Rica (aka Kat) and her mother the equally fabulous Margie.

 

The plan after that – as always with full-timing, etched in Jello – is to spend the rest of winter in Texas before venturing to Kansas for another visit with la familia. Then, it will be off to NW New Mexico for a two-month volunteer gig at Aztec Ruins National Monument.

 

So long, Big Bend. It's been good to know ya'. 

On the border

The town of Boquillas, Mexico. After 9/11, all border crossings along the Big Bend section

of the Rio Grande were closed. Only Boquillas was reopened. The town just barely survives.

Park visitors frequently ask, “Is it safe here?” What they want to know, of course, is whether any of those notorious Mexican drug cartels pose a threat to their security. Our answer: no, they don't.

You see, the Mexican side of Big Bend National Park (BiBe) is even more remote than the U.S. Given a tendency towards laziness on the part of most criminals, it seems it is just too much work and too little gain to make the BiBe section of borderland worth targeting.

That said, one man's challenge is another's opportunity. A few Mexican entrepreneurs eager and willing to go the extra mile do cross the border and head for unguarded vehicles left by unsuspecting hikers out exploring the park's remotest areas. Once spotted, these horse-mounted hooligans turn their trusty steeds homeward and in the direction of the nearest fencing operation (and I'm not talking barbed wire). It's become enough of a nuisance that one area here is closed for camping as a result. Park rangers, aided by U.S. Border Patrol agents, are trying to disrupt this criminal activity, but BiBe is a big place and doing so will be difficult.

Having traveled in Mexico and lived near the Arizona-Mexico border, I can attest to the fact that these aforementioned opportunists do not represent Mexican nationals, the vast majority of whom just want a decent life for themselves and their families. (Don't we all?) This perception was reinforced by a recent visit Leonard and I made to the section of Big Bend known as Rio Grande Village near the Mexican border town of Boquillas.

Mexicans display items like this on the U.S. side hoping to sell them to tourists. Buying
them is illegal for a variety of reasons, including a desire to discourage the taking of raw
materials used to make them from the park.

Once there, we saw evidence of illegal activity of quite a different sort. Tracks leading from the banks of the Rio Grande to boulders displaying handcrafted goods and “honor” jars asking anyone purchasing the items to leave payment suggested the area was regularly trod by some hard-working soul (or soul) willing to risk arrest for selling goods and entering the U.S. illegally. We encountered Jesus, a man who refers to himself as “the singing Mexican,” standing on the southern bank of the Rio Grande and belching out the lyrics to “Cielito Lindo.” He, too, had placed several containers along the path leading to the river requesting contributions from anyone wishing to express their gratitude for his acceptable, albeit slightly off-key, serenade.

 

A row boat beached on the Mexican side of the Rio Grande

(After Jesus realized we speak Spanish, he cheerily jumped into his own boat and rowed his way onto the U.S. side to make our acquaintances, all against the law. No matter. It seems poverty is a powerful motivator.)

 

Trails like this show evidence of cross-river traffic.

The experience was sobering. It reminded me that life for some out there is very, very hard. I left the scene feeling grateful for what I have and more compassionate for those who have less.

As for Jesus? Well, let's just say he returned home that day a few bucks richer.

 

Rio Grande Village, site of what once was the Daniels Ranch. One of the ranch's original adobe dwellings still stands.

BiBe's Boquillas Canyon trail is a favorite among park visitors. (Are there any bad views in this park?)

 

My way

This week found me making my way (sans spouse and pooch) to Tucson, Arizona to attend my uncle's funeral. When I first received news of his death, I knew I wanted to be with my family but was concerned that any options for transport might not be viable in terms of cost and time. Then, I recalled passing an Amtrak facility during one of our semi-monthly grocery runs. I researched the matter and found that rail travel would be less expensive and more convenient than either driving or flying. (Also, avoiding the whole stand-in-line-for-your-public-strip-search/random-colonoscopy-thing – courtesy of the TSA – held considerable appeal.) So, this past Sunday I caught Amtrak train #1, the Sunset Limited, out of Alpine, Texas.

The station at Alpine, like most rural stops, is a

no frills operation. This guy hasn't been paid in

years!

Overpriced dinner and three-hour arrival delay not withstanding, the trip went well. That said, this recent experience reinforced my notion of some of the perqs of RV living. Not only do I not have to endure the annoyances associated with setting up camp in a strange room – personal favorites include figuring out why none of the three remote controls on the television actually works the television or stepping into the shower only to find that the hot and cold water lines have been reversed - I get to sleep in my own bed, never have to pack (or unpack) a suitcase, and know exactly which light switch operates which light.

These benefits were apparent from the start. During the past nine months, we have had a few other epiphanies, and a few adjustments lie ahead. After all, part of the fun of this lifestyle is having the flexibility to do things our way.

First off, we like volunteering. Leonard and I enjoy taking on new challenges, meeting people, basically everything associated with visitor center hosting. Both of the positions we've held thus far have required three-month commitments, tethering us in a single location longer than we prefer. We're ready to put more recreational into our brand of recreational vehicle living. From here on out, we will consider only shorter-term volunteer opportunities (two months or less).

Secondly, building a “career” as a volunteer, like building a professional career, requires knowing one's strengths and limitations. We initially planned to mix visitor center jobs with campground hosting. After seeing what the latter actually entails, such as coping with campers who think the “No Campfires Allowed” sign next to their site must have been meant for somebody else or waiting for the midnight knock on the door from someone wishing to report a broken light bulb in the bathhouse, we decided to admit that neither of us has the patience to be good campground hosts. Visitor centers, where your day ends when you turn out the lights and walk out the door, suit use just fine.

Finally, when it comes to location, remote is okay for a couple of weeks. Spending entire days refilling a propane tank or buying a head of lettuce gets old. Fast. From now on, we'll stick closer to civilization.

Pondering this fine tuning makes me think about my late uncle. He lived his 95 years with great enthusiasm and vigor, and if he had had a theme song, it would have been the old Sinatra tune “My Way.” His will be a tough act to follow, but I'm willing to give it a shot.
 

Street art at its finest. A mural on the wall of my cousin's gallery.

 

Rio Grande, Rio Bravo

Its 1,865 mile journey starts in the San Juan Mountains of southern Colorado and ends at the Gulf of Mexico near Brownsville, Texas. Nearly two-thirds of it serves as the dividing line between the United States of America and the United States of Mexico. On our side of the border, we know it as the Rio Grande. Mexicans refer to it as el Rio Bravo. The river lives up to both names, being grande (“large”) and, during summer months when heavy rains force the river from its banks and through narrow, rock-lined squeezes, bravo (“angry”).

The 196-mile section of the Rio Grande that flows between the Chihuahua/Coahila state line in Mexico to the Terrell/Val Verde county line in Texas received Congressional designation as a Wild and Scenic River in 1978. The area's location within Big Bend presents park guests with the unusual opportunity to experience two parks in one.

Band of Boaters - rangers and volunteers prepare to put in at Talley for the
start of their two-day education on the Rio Grande.

In October, as part of our volunteer orientation, Leonard was treated to a two-day float adventure down the river. This exploration was led by the interpretive ranger responsible for managing Big Bend's river district.

Where was I? Someone had to stay behind to take care of Sprocket, so I offered to play dog sitter.

(Lest you pity me, remember that we spend nearly every moment of every day together. Sometimes it's nice to be able to catch some quality “alone time.”)

I will leave you to peruse a sampling of photos from Leonard's wet and wild weekend. 

Here's wishing you all a very happy 2014!

En route to the river, our adventurers are treated to a stop at the abandoned Mariscal Mine. The mine
was once an important source of Cinnabar, the ore that yields mercury. Look, but don't touch! Mercury
is quite toxic.



Leonard moves in for a closer look at the one of the mine's abandoned shafts.

At long last, water. Let the fun begin!

The river canyons of the Big Bend are the stuff of which postcards are made. Marvelous!
 





Camping on the U.S. side of the river is allowed by permit. Our heroes wasted no time in setting up their tents and bedding.



The morning of Day 2 finds this skilled mariner soaking wet,
the result of an unplanned foray into a thicket of cane. That's
one way to take a bath!

It just keeps getting better.
 

The home stretch. From the looks on these faces, I'd say canoeing is serious business!