Monday, October 14, 2024

The Resurrection of Bucephalus

 

The Resurrection of Bucephalus



“Two dollars and he’s all yours.” The vendor at the Taco Tuesday market gestured toward the broken pieces of ceramic I held in my hands. I found him laying discarded behind boxes of desert figurines: Multi colored Gila monsters, green cactus with shiny yellow blossoms…howling glazed coyotes and Mexican Talavera caught the eye of many a snowbird hoping to find that perfect souvenir; a representation of their winter migration.

I wasn’t a snowbird anymore. I was a bona fide Sonoran desert property owner living in her horse trailer. I didn’t have a house. I didn’t have electricity or plumbing…indoors or out. What I did have was five acres of bare land and big dreams to make it my home.

I wasn’t looking for anything particular as I wandered through the street vendors; most of which set up their wares on the city lot next to Woody’s gas station every Tuesday. The little grey donkey with a blue basket pack lay on his side. A broken leg here – a section of ear and a chipped hoof there. He’d seen better days for sure. I’d seen better days myself.

“Hey guy...I think you need a home even more than I do.” I dug two bucks out of my pocket and handed it to the vendor. He looked at the jumble of ceramic in my hands: “You really want that? I have many nice pieces here, lady…look at this colorful desert tortoise…and here, this beautiful Talavera flower pot! You like?”  I shrugged: “Sure…I like them fine…but I want this one.” I could feel the vendor shaking his head as I walked away. I drove to The Family Dollar, purchased a tube of super glue and a box of Pop-Tarts before heading back to my trailer. Super glue for donkey – Pop-Tarts in case performing cosmetic surgery makes you hungry.  

I spread the pieces of donkey on a table made from an empty CHEWY box and went to work reconstructing the ceramic “equus asinus.” First his leg and hoof so he could stand - then a section of his left haunch and finally, an ear. It was tedious work. A half bottle of glue and a two pack of Pop-Tarts later and it was done.

 

HE’S ALIVE!! An exhilarating moment! A moment comparable to that of Mary Shelley’s Dr. Frankenstein when he glimpsed the first flutter of an eyelash as his creation took its first breath. A creation the good doctor would soon come to loath and reject. A creature who would become the unnamed – a fiend – a monster…a demon! I’ll be damned if that’s going to happen to MY flea market donkey! “I shall call you…”BUCEPHALUS.”  A mighty steed with such a name will surely never undergo such threats of abandonment and loathing as those of the pitiful Frankenstein’s Monster.

I added a few touches of black permanent marker to hide the demarcation scars from the repairs. I examined my handy work; not too shabby for an amateur mad scientist.  He was a tad bit walleyed - compliments of his original paint job - but without my own paint set, there wasn’t anything I could do for that.

I went about staging an area Bucephalus could call his very own. A gnarled mesquite branch, an ancient grinding stone and a vintage cistern hand pump was about all I had available in the outdoor décor department. Bucephalus looked right at home nestled amongst these simple antiquities.  

 

For months, Bucephalus weathered whatever Mother Nature threw at him: Day upon day in the hot desert sun. Weeks of torrential monsoons and relentless dust storms that could peal the hide clean off an armadillo. Bucephalus persevered.  

Over two years into purchasing my property and 8 months beyond promised date - two halves of a manufactured home arrived on site. It would be another two years of deception, miscommunication, total lack of communication and ineptness before an occupancy permit was issued: dangled like a carrot by faceless entities such as Maricrappy county, inspectors, corrupt site contractors, utility companies and manufactured home builders.

Finally, with 99% of the site work complete and twenty thousand dollars over budget, I moved Bucephalus, with his rustic décor, to a spot next to the newly installed electrical pedestal; installed – but not yet connected to APS. The carrot still dangled. All that needed to be done was the final green tag inspection and a flip of the switch. Weeks of false assurances of when this would happen dashed my hopes like a thousand pieces of broken pottery.

It is a helpless feeling knowing you have no control over a major, life changing event. I loved my Arizona home. This was my dream – and yet by the time they were done with me – they had sucked so much of the joy out of that dream I questioned: is it worth it?

I suppose I’d given up. Oh-well – I have a house. I have water going to my property. Who needs electricity? I’d been living off the grid for a good 4 years. I’ll figure out how to wire this thing for a generator – slap on a few solar panels and call it good. I can accomplish anything with You Tube and a roll of duct tape.

In late November 2023 – I came home to find a crew of APS workers huddled around the electrical pedestal. They were there and gone without saying a word. I looked around to see if I could tell any work had been done. I could not. All I could see was the little ceramic donkey, crushed to pieces and tossed against the concrete foundation of my electric-free house. I think that was the moment that broke the donkey’s back.

I could see their utility trucks parked on the main road east of my property. Maybe they were working on the J Box. I don’t know what I was planning to do, but I took my dogs with me in the event I needed backup. Although, as angry as I felt – I doubt I would need them.

I neared the APS crew to find them sitting on over-turned buckets watching a team roping practice. Their backs were to me. Well, isn’t this precious. “You boys enjoying yourselves?” I’d startled them bad enough one of them nearly fell off his bucket.

“OH, HEY! Yeah…just thought we’d take a little break before heading back to the office.”   *Inhale…Exhale* “Huh…glad you found some time for a little entertainment. I don’t mean to interrupt – but is there any way you can tell me the honest truth when you will have my power hooked up? Don’t tell me what you think I want to hear. I want the truth. If it’s going to be six months; fine. If there’s a problem and you’re never going to do it; fine. I’m tired of the BS. I’ve had enough.” I could feel my cheeks burning.

They looked something between bewildered and apologetic. “Ma’am…your power is hooked up. Just flip on the breaker and your good to go.” It was like an explosion of bright light…ELECTRIFIED bright light…had shot down from the utility gods and jolted life back in to my being. “Seriously? I have electricity? For reals?”

One of the crew got off his bucket and questioned me about the experience and my obvious frustration. He asked if the hold-up was due to APS?  “You know…I really don’t know. From the beginning of this whole process – one entity blamed the other. I don’t know if it was the manufacturer – the site contractors…the County…APS or a giant purple dinosaur. It doesn’t matter now.”

Close to tears, I thanked them profusely: “If I were the huggy type – I’d hug every one of you…but I’m not…so…I’m just going to go flip on every light in my house and take a shower until the hot water heater can’t keep up!” I apologized for being cranky, thanked them profusely again and did just that.

 

I found it sadly ironic that it would be the onslaught of civilization and modern amenities that would become Bucephalus’s near undoing. I gathered the shattered pieces of the little donkey and carried him to the she-shed. Gone was the make-shift chewy box table. In its place; an actual work bench and a complete set off paints. I went to work on donkey’s second major reconstruction. Home-made Bondo filled in the pieces that were missing or rendered to a chalk-powder substance. I held the partially reconstructed “Franken-donkey” in my hands and examined him from all sides. “Well donkey – a few dozen coats of paint and nobody will ever know the difference.”

I figured with all that donkey had been through – he deserved a better paint job than the cartoon-ish-walleyed look of his past. Gone were the goofy pink muzzle and lip-stick red smile depicted by no donkey ever. In their place – intelligent, dark brown eyes and a Jerusalem cross draped across his shoulders.

As of this writing, CAVCO has yet to schedule the year end repairs on my house. I have little faith they will. I could get an attorney – sue them – fight them and/or otherwise make a commotion fit to shake their world apart. I don’t have it in me anymore. It’s not worth it. To do so would once again allow them to suck the joy out of my dream. There is nothing in the needed repairs I can’t do myself. A little spackle – a little paint (a lot of paint actually) and I can live with the rest. Yes, I know it is their contracted responsibility to make things right…but at what cost? In the end – this is still my house. I can still flip on a light switch and flush the toilet without stepping on a foot pedal.

For certain, it will take more than a few tubes of paint to repair the scars left by the bureaucratic mentality and corruption of the entities involved in home ownership in this county. I was not a person. I was a parcel number on their ever-growing list of new development. I know longer had a name. I had a permit number. I didn’t have feelings – I had inspection codes. I was worthy of their attention only when it came time to sign my name on the checks. I swear – everything in me wanted to sign that check with: premise ID 1535351028-FU.

I have been asked a few times if I would do it again. Having gone through it all – I don’t think I would…but I am forever thankful that I did. This is my home now and I am gradually finding the joy I felt when I first stepped foot on the desert and dubbed this piece of Sonoran sand “my property.”

I spray another layer of protective seal coat over the little donkeys newly painted body and place him in his spot amongst the desert treasures. “Nobody’s ever going to kick you around or toss you aside again as long as I’m here my friend. It will take a lot more than what civilization can dish out to shatter our dreams. Welcome home, Bucephalus.

~



“There was none among the myriads of men who existed who would pity or assist me; and should I feel kindness towards my enemies? No: from that moment I declared everlasting war against the species, and, more than all, against him who had formed me, and sent me forth to this insupportable misery.” ~  The Monster

 

Friday, September 27, 2024

Trail log: 9-26-2024


 

Me and Drifter


  • Trail: WYE Campground - Tamarack - WRT SE
  • Miles: 4.5
  • Riders: Self - Lou Ann
  • Horses: Drifter - Rainy
  • Dogs: Groot

Notes: Our last morning to ride. We intended to ride Drifter and Lou's young horse River. River was feeling pretty spunky with all the commotion going on. It was a stacked decked from the get-go: 1. He'd been in the pen for two days. 2: It was a cold morning 3. The wind was blowing 4: He wasn't at all impressed with the 2 spotted mules running free in the field next to the trail 5: Leaving his buddy back at camp. 

Lou could have gotten through it, but it was clear it wasn't going to be a calm or enjoyable ride. We decided to head back and get our more solid horses out. Lou saddled Rainy and I pulled Jack out of the pen to find him gimping on his left hind. He probably stepped on a rock while running down the RR bed of rock that is the WRT. Maybe he pulled something - but there wasn't any swelling so most likely a bruised heel. Regardless, he wasn't going anywhere. I left him with River and kept Drifter saddled. Driff was good as gold and was actually less spooky of the commotion than Jack. The Tamarack Mill is a BUSY operation. It's across 95 from the WRT but it's still super noise with giant sprinklers - fork lifts - logging trucks - you name it. Jack couldn't get passed it fast enough. Drifter could not have cared less. He barely acknowledged it - dropped his head and off we went. 

We planned to keep the ride short. We took off up a steep trail heading east until it sort of faded out at the top. We side-hilled cross country until we met up with another old logging road that took us back down the to WRT and back to camp. 

It was great seeing Lou again. We hope to plan more adventures next summer when I'm back in the country. 

Lou and Rainy


PS: I fed Jack a little butte and as of this morning he seems sound and happy. 




Trail Log: 9-25-24

The mill at Tamarack - busy operation


  •  Trail: WYE Campground - WRT - Tamarack/New Meadows
  • Miles: 8.80
  • Riders: Self - Lou Ann
  • Horses: Jack - Rainy
  • Dogs: Groot

Notes: We planned to ride Jack and Rainy in the morning and River and Drifter in the afternoon. That plan went out the window when we got back and decided we were hungry and pooped. Besides, it was trying to storm. We decided to ride the colts in the morning before going home. 


After perusing various maps - we decided to ride south on the WRT to some roads/trials that take off from the WRT heading east. We missed the intended road and ended up on another farther south. This section of the trail is surrounded in private property and boy do they take their signage seriously. You were pretty limited as to where you can ride. I believe the land was bought up by an outfit out of Texas. It pretty much shut down some of the prime access on the WRT but...it's a free country and if you own it - you have the right to do with it as you please...unless the government says otherwise (don't get me started.) 

The public access road did get us away from busy 95 and meandered through the timber. Beaver Creek (I believe) flowed along the bottom of the steep ravine below us. According to our maps - the road we were on was parallel with the road we wanted, but on the other side of the steep ravine and Beaver Creek. We would have chanced "trespassing" and cutting over to the other side and looping back - but the terrain was pretty much impenetrable. We doubled back the way we came. 

Lou feeding my horse potato chips




Trail Log: 9-24-2024


 

  • Trail: WYE Campground - Tamarack/New Meadows - WRT North
  • Miles: 6.80
  • Riders: Self - Lou Ann
  • Horses: Jack - Rainy 
  • Dogs: Groot

Notes: Met Lou Ann at the WYE campground outside of Tamarack for the last northern trail ride before heading south. It was a good mini-trip to iron out any issues with my truck and/or trailer. Truck ran good (crossing fingers and toes.) The water heater on my LQ isn't working so I'll fix that before I head home. 

We both brought two horses so we could leave two in camp and not have to pony. The WYE campground is pretty awesome. It is officially closed for the season, so they told us to stay for free. They have four nice horse pens and free Wi-Fi! Can't really beat that. I've ridden many sections of the WRT  but this is as far north as I've gone. We put in and rode north until the WRT trail ends. I can't say it's my favorite section as it runs next to busy 95. Still, it was a pretty ride and the nice campground made it worth going. 



Monday, September 16, 2024

Trail Log: 9-13-2024

I can see my moms place. You can barely see my place in the far left

 

  • Trail: Cornucopia HWY - Dixie Creek
  • Miles: 6.12
  • Riders: Self 
  • Horses: Drifter
  • Dogs: Groot


Notes: Friday the 13th. Didn't realize the date until writing this trail log. Good thing I'm not superstitious. 

I'm over ponying. Neither one need the practice anymore and it's a pain in the butt. Both pony well enough but it's still a pain in the butt. It limits what you can do and frankly, makes what should be an enjoyable ride a lot of work. So - I'm taking them one at a time. Today was Drifter's turn. 

This was Drifters real first solo ride beyond adventuring out a mile or two outside the back gate. I unloaded at the end of the highway. In keeping with my "I need the exercise philosophy, I walked and led Drifter the mile to the cattle guard and rode from there. 

I picked a road I don't think I've ridden. It follows Dixie creek and eventually meets up with Holbrook Creek (according to Avenza)



This being Drifters solo debut - I planned to keep the miles short. I was about to turn around when something caught Groot and Drifter's attention. I heard something coming off the hill just above the hairpin curve about 100 yards above us. I didn't see its head but it was unmistakably canine: smoky blue/grey and black and 200 lbs. If it had been a coyote, Groot would have chased it. He wasn't having anything to do with it. 98% sure it was a wolf. It loped (huge strides) down the V of the canyon parallel to us. I waited for Drifter to calm down a little before riding on another 30 feet. Another one came off the same trail and disappeared after the first. Wolves don't worry me too much but I know they will attack your dog so thought it best to turn around while it was still daylight. Groot and Drifter both kept a concerned eye on the canyon below as we rode back. I wish I'd been able to get a picture of them but just like Bigfoot - it ain't happening. This is the second time I've ran into wolves in this general area. It's funny, people look at you like you are full of shit- they assume you saw a coyote...a fox or the farmers dog. Like I've never seen a coyote, a fox or the farmers dog. 

I dismounted to pick up a couple pieces of tube-iron I'd found laying on the side of the road. I can use that in a welding project. I walked for another mile or so before climbing back aboard at the cattle guard and riding to the trailer. Drifter did great. It helps that he's not buddy sour and has a lot of confidence. 

I made it home safe to discover the underside of my bumper pull is jacked up and could have fallen off the axel at any moment. I can't decide if I'm the luckiest person on the planet or God just looks after fools and little children. I do know which of those I am. 

Drifter is more tolerant of Groot when solo




Wednesday, September 11, 2024

Trail Log: 9-9-2024

 


  • Trail: Snow Park - Meadow Creek Ridge
  • Miles: 5.5
  • Riders: Self
  • Horses: Jack - Drifter
  • Dogs: Groot

Notes: I call these outings "Hike and Ride's." I'm not getting much exercise these days. The horrible smoke - excessive heat - lack of wood to chop and fences to build have found me binge watching WAY too much Games of Thrones and ALONE. I don't recommend anyone watch GOT. My sister and I call it Games of Porn. With that said...we watched every episode of every season. Mostly with our eyes closed. ALONE, however, is awesome. It's a survival reality show. The contestants are set in an area of wilderness with a few items and camera equipment. They document their own story...no camera crew. The last one to tap out wins 500K. It's the one survival reality show I know I could do. I wouldn't last 3 days on shows like SURVIVOR which are predominantly popularity contests. ALONE....I could do that. Isolation is not a problem for me and I'd eat a couple of slugs for 500K any day of the week. Anyhow -  if I'm going to lose the GOT-15, as I call it...I need to get out and do some hiking. To kill several birds with one stone (yet another useful skill for my stint on ALONE) - I ride one horse for a while - walk for a while and lead both - switch horses - ride the other and repeat. 

I like to explore areas I've not been. I parked across from the snow park and rode up an unmarked road. The road started out pretty well developed. Firewood cutting evident. As you climb - the road turns into more of a four-wheeler road and soon becomes quite over-grown. Near the top of the faded road turned game trail, you are confronted with a sheer rock out-cropping. The trail "sort of" fades off around this rock face and seemingly disappears into the oblivion. I hobbled the horses here and crawled around to see what I could see. Meadow Creek to the west flowed at the bottom of the huge canyon and Schneider Meadows to the NW.

I had hoped the "road" would have looped around and taken me back to the trailers via Schneider Meadows. The Avenza map showed the path I took in - a big gap of nothingness around that rock face and the road lower down the canyon  I hoped to get to that connected back to the Snow Park. 

I sent the map of my tracks to an armature cartographer who has spent his life exploring this area. Near as he could determine - it must be an old logging concern as mineral exploration as far as he knew was not in this particular area. Why it just ends and then picks up again is anybody's guess.  I'd like to walk in sometime and walk around the rock face and see if I can pick up the road shown on the map. It would be sketchy to do it on horseback even with Jack the mountain goat. It's one of those things you do only if your life depends on it. Not today...

Map does not show topology. InReach map shows the elevation of the rock face to be at 4750 feet



Saturday, September 7, 2024

Trail Log: 9-6-2024



  •  Trail: Lake Fork to Elk Creek - 1886
  • Miles: 5
  • Riders: Self
  • Horses: Jack
  • Dogs: Groot

Notes: It's been a bit like a poorly written country song around these parts. My truck broke down and my horse pulled a shoe on the day I was headed out for a pack trip in Washington State. I was stranded. I spent the week raising the ranch panels 18 inches off the ground so Jack can't snag his shoes and pull them off...hoof and all. That was a lot of work. A hot shower would have been nice but had to settle for a cold one since the hot water heater took a dump, too. 

It's amazing how much you can get done when you are imprisoned on five acres. With not truck to haul


the one non-lame horse around, I grabbed the chain saw and fencing supplies and worked on the fence in the deepest, darkest section of jungle on my property. Not the worst chore - I rather enjoy clearing brush. I cut so many little trees out, I used them for staves all along the fence. It's now the sturdiest, coolest looking fence on the property. 

I was fortunate my truck broke down here instead of on the road or back in Arizona where everything is quadruple the price. Jeremy, the mechanic here - is one of the best around in my opinion. He got the truck running for a fourth of what the shop in Baker was going to charge. 

I caught Jack's pulled shoe fast enough and slapped a boot on him before he tore it up too bad. In a weeks time, Stewart was able to get a shoe on him. He's still a little tender in the toes. His feet never recovered 100% after the butcher job a couple of years ago. It's heartbreaking - but we manage. I lay him off for 3-5 days after a reset and he's usually good to go. 

On the same day Jeremy got my truck running, Stewart reset Jack. I waited a couple of days and hauled him up to explore the Lake Fork area. He was still a little gimpy going down-hill but seemed to ease up after a couple of miles. I walked and led him part of the time. A timber rattler buzzed us at a creek crossing. This was the same area we killed a rattler several years ago. Still surprise me there are rattlers in this area. 

Once home, I put Jack up - temporarily fixed the hot water heater and took a hot-ish shower. 

Clearing brush in the Jungle