The Pumpkin Cheesecake Diaries - 2020

Margarita's and Dollar Store Granny Panties

I've had a couple days to settle in. Cindy and Dave have gone out of their way to show me the ropes. My brain is in total overload. Pretty sure I reached maximum capacity somewhere between Dave's grand tour of Wickenburg and Cindy's lesson in terminology for the different species of Cactus. I can only remember a couple. The Saguaro cactus – which I was calling the Sequoia. That explains why it took me so long to spot a cactus in Arizona – I was looking for a giant redwood. The other – the jumping white cactus has several names it goes by according to the variety. The only one I can remember of this is the Teddy Bear....something. Chollo?? I'll have to Google it. Google knows everything...unless it's an address in Arizona. I'm pretty sure nobody wants anybody to know they live here. Otherwise ever body will want to move here! I know I do...

Yesterday was a kick back day. I set up a course and practiced on both J'Lo and Jack. Both horses did great. I was especially happy with Jack. I haven't shot off him in a while and expected him to be a little chargy. He was calm and collected all day. I couldn't be happier with my two ponies.

I took the dogs out in the afternoon and walked some property for sale around the area. Probably just a pipe dream but you never know. A dream can't come true if you don't dare to imagine it.

Cindy text later in the day and asked if wanted to go to a three man sorting clinic. The third “man” bailed on them and went shooting instead. I said sure! Do have to be good at it or know what I'm doing? She assured me it as a beginners clinic and I would be fine.

My first instinct was to take J'Lo. She fits right in my comfort zone. If I think there is going to be a lot of commotion that might get me bucked off Jack, I chicken out and take J. I realize I have to stop doing that. Jack can't be expected to be any different if I don't expose him to things; any more than I can expect J'Lo to develop better trail habits and endurance if I don't get her out on the trail more.

Cindy and I pulled out of Aquila toward Glendale by 7:30 am with her horse, Cowboy, and Jack. We met Jaimie Z. outside of Wickenburg and our 3 woman sorting team was on it's way. The two hour drive flew by as Cindy turned tour guide – pointing out all the interesting attractions and history on the drive.

The gal putting on the clinic, Malinda, rode like she was born on a cutting horse. She broke down the three parts/roles of each person and went over the basics of sorting in general. You have the gate person, the cutter and I don't remember what the person in the middle is called...blocker maybe? What do you expect, I thought “crossover” was a town.

Melinda asked if we had any questions. I had one. What position is best if you don't have a clue what your doing? She said none of them were laid back – so just get in there and figure it out – but if the first two spots are doing really good - the gate might be the most laid back. If not – it can be the most hectic.

We did several drills working on each position. I think I like the cutter the best – or maybe the blocker. The blocker is fun because you can buzz up there and cut off the cows while the cutter is doing their thing and the gate person is helping wherever needed. The gate person is a little tense when you have 7 bad cows and 2 other riders coming at you at once. I was glad to be on Jack after my first experience with the gate at a faster pace. He's big enough that no matter what comes at you – they aren't going to knock him around. He was a trooper. I can't really tell what he looks like because I'm sitting up there trying to remember what comes after 6 and which position to rotate into next. Crazy how fast a person can forget how to count. One gal decided it should be legal to count backwards. “You can do that, right?”Cindy said Jack looked like he was having a blast. If a cow came at us, he would drop his head and pin his ears back. That horse NEVER pins his ears – we have J'Lo for that. Dropping his head is something for him too as he can be high-headed when he's anxious. He did a little teeth gnashing – but then again, so do I when I'm nervous. He never got so wound up I thought he was going to blow up. He'd do his job and prance out of the pen all proud of himself. We might not have known what we were doing – but dang it, we thought we looked good doing it!

Cindy, Jamie, Linda and I met at Chili's for lunch and $5:00 margaritas!! The girls all ordered some variation or other of tacos and I ordered an “old timers” burger. I thought it was only appropriate.

Cindy would not allow me to buy dollar store underwear. She insisted on taking me into Kohl's. I didn't want to put anybody out by dragging them around underwear shopping but she assured me she needed to pick up a few things as well. Now that I look back – I'm the only one that made a purchase! However, she did have a 15% off coupon on her phone she scanned for my purchase. It's not what kind of undies you wear...it's who you take shopping for them! I am relieved knowing I won't be running out of clean undies for a while and I imagine Cindy will sleep better tonight knowing I won't be wearing dollar store granny-panties. At least not this trip.

Trail Log: 1-10-2020

• Trail: Aquila AZ - State Land 
• Miles: 12.6
• Riders: Self
• Horses: Jack and J
• Dogs: Hank

Notes: First ride through the Arizona desert. Better than I imagined. The horses are barefoot still so I stayed along the sandy bottoms. Monday they get shoes so will be able to explore farther!

The Pumpkin Cheesecake Diaries: 1-10-2020

Getting my bearings

I woke up to my first morning in Arizona as excited as a kid on Christmas morning. I planned to tinker around and get my bearings. The first order of business was to take the dogs for a walk after camp chores. Before Dave left for a roping, he filled me in on several local hazards to watch out for. First off...Snakes. Watch for snakes. There are 16 different varieties of rattlers in these parts and each one more aggressive than the next. Stickers and White Jumping Cactus. Everything that grows out here will either bite you, poke you or both. If your dogs go with you, they will get stickers and they are hard to remove – take pliers. Watch out especially for White Jumping Cactus. They can get you from “THIS” far away! Holy Shit. There are coyotes that will eat your dogs and bobcat the size of a mountain lion. Got to watch out for those, too. Take your pistol...you'll be fine. Holy Shit. I think Dave can be quite the kidder, but I wasn't taking any chances. I was fine with rattlers, all 16 types of them, I'm use to cougars and coyotes, not a problem. But if see a cactus of any kind, white or not, jumping across the desert after me I'm going back to Idaho!

The dogs and I began our walk at the edge of miles and miles of public land. Sandy washes still damp

with recent rains wound through mesquite and creosote brush. Small cactus sprung up here and there. It was about a mile before we came to our first giant sequoia. I had to do it. I snapped a selfie with my new friend Sam the Sequoia. He made an excellent landmark. As long as I kept Sam in sight I could easily find my way back home.

After our walk, I grabbed a bite to eat and saddled up. Jack and J seemed ecstatic to be out and moving in the desert air. Jack especially moved out with ears forward and head bobbing as his unshod feet flew across the sandy desert floor. We stayed on the bottom where there weren't any rocks to speak of until I get them shod in a few days. I ponied J'Lo for a ways before letting her follow at liberty. Sort of. Most of the time she stopped to eat until we got out of site and come racing up like it was our fault we left her.

I wondered what the horses would think of cactus when they came to it. I figured it would spook them until they got used to it. Neither horse batted an eye. If it had been a giant plastic structure they would of both had a coronary.

We rode for 6 or 7 miles. I didn't want to sore them up. I think we'd still be out there if they were shod. Riding in the Arizona desert is even more amazing than I anticipated. I can't explain it. Maybe you have to be a desert rat like me. The only way I can put it is I feel like I am home here.

After our little trail ride, I swapped horses at the trailer and rode on over to the Silver Bit to watch a team roping. I didn't get to see Dave rope as he has already cleaned house before I got there. J-bird and Jack were not entirely impressed with the whole team roping jive. Funny how I can fire a .45 inches from their head and they aren't phased but come unglued watching somebody else chase a cow down to the end of an arena.

Dave was going into town for supplies and asked if I'd like to go. We wouldn't be long. I think he realized how I dreaded getting back into a vehicle. I needed to pick up a few things and thought it would be nice to check it out with someone familiar with the area first. He didn't disappoint. I learned the history of Wickenburg from it's 1870's beginnings as a mining town to it's uncertain future as a town struggling with political squabbling and discontent. A struggle between the old cowboy beginnings and recent arrival of a more liberal mindset. Apparently city folk don't like the smell of cow shit and leather. Why the hell don't they STAY in the city if they don't like the ways of country living? Go figure.

I bought a couple bags of pellets for my horse trailer at Dave's suggestion. On the day of my arrival he took one look at the inside of my trailer and said I needed to learn me a few things about traveling with horses. Pellets absorb the horse pee and odor. Sort of like clumping cat litter! Sweet!

We had lunch at a Mexican Restaurant....I can't remember the name of it now...Anna's something? Anyway, it was the best Mexican food I've eaten since my trip to the Riviera. I usually avoid it in the states.

It gets cold fast here when the sun drops. I tucked the dogs and horses in for the night. Modern technology is a great thing at times. I was able to pay some bills and finish up other paperwork all remotely. Before I retired, I said I was done with technology. All of t. I was going to throw it all out including a cell phone. Now that I no longer have to deal with it to earn a living, I find that I enjoy my techno-gadgets again. I guess it's the difference between connecting a cool new security camera or other smart device to an echo or having to surf through some sick bastards porn history.

Tomorrow...I shoot. There are a couple shoots I could go to this weekend but I think will stay put and get in some practice. I haven't worked with Jack on shooting for awhile. Besides that – I just don't have it in me to load up those poor ponies and climb behind the wheel again.

Good night from Arizona

The Pumpkin Cheesecake Diaries: 1-9-2020

Mimosa, Spaghetti bowls and the big NOTHING

I'll start this blog from the end. 

Hello Arizona! To say I am ecstatic to be here is the understatement of the century. Had Dave and Cindy not been watching me pull in, I might have jumped out of the truck and kissed the ground. As it was, I could barely back into my parking spot. It's crazy – I can back any one of my trailers into just about any configuration of tight spots – but if I know somebody is watching me, I am lucky to get the thing in reverse. Dave said to watch out for the fluffy little cactus. Hell, I couldn't see Dave let alone a fluffy little anything.

Cindy had been keeping track of my progress as I made the 900 + mile journey across three states. She ended each text with emojis of cacti, sunshine and mimosa. Practically the first thing she did after her and Dave helped get me settled was pour me a large glass of cranberry/vodka. At the risk of committing buzzed blogging laws and a slew of grammatical and spelling errors while under the influence...I shall attempt to start this days episode of “The Pumpkin Cheesecake Diaries.”

I woke up in Alamo Nevada freezing my butt off. Alamo was colder than Wells and Ely put together. The horse water had more than a skim of ice to break through. I wouldn't have noticed the cold so much had I opted to not park at the official hookups but instead parked next to my horses. I didn't feel comfortable parking clean across the facility from them. I was sure somebody was waiting to steal them in the middle of the night. My imagination runs wild at the best of times and more so after dark.

I didn't sleep as well as I would have liked. Several rigs pulled in during the night. In my half wake/half sleep state – I was sure they were the horse thieves coming in with empty trailers to haul off Jack and J'Lo. Do they hang horse thieves in Nevada still? Is it legal to shoot them? Eventually I woke up enough to look outside and verify they had plenty of horses of their own and weren't interested in a cranky mare and a high-strung buckskin. Even so, I kept a close watch on the goings outside and a closer watch on my .380.

My new friend from Rupert, “John Smith” (if that's even his real name) approached my camp as I went about morning chores. Their pickup and generator batteries were both drained. He needed a jump. That's the thing about those beautiful big travel trailers, with all the slides, electronics, fireplaces...etc, they drain the batteries pretty fast when you're dry camping. I was worried even with my small LQ. Fortunately, my new to me Dodge fired right up. phew

I pulled around to the “Smiths'” rig (if that's even their real names) so John could jump his truck and generator. I thought it was odd you had to jump start a generator. I learned the type he has requires battery power to start. It made me feel better about having to crank on my old pull start champion that chugged to life after a cold night with a few good pulls and a shot of quick start. John thanked me again for the jump and expressed he hoped to see me in Wickenburg. I waved goodbye to the “Smiths.” (If that's even their real names) and went back to breaking down camp.

I topped off the water tank and emptied the septic. The critters and I went for a short hike on the motocross track to stretch our legs for the last leg of our trip South. I felt bad asking them to climb back in that trailer yet again. They did so without complaint and I promised it would be the last I'd ask of them for a few days at least.

I am taken back by the diversity of Nevada's geography. A true feast for the eyes. Every spot you look is utterly unique from the next. It's not like the mountains a child draws in pictures. With a big peak – followed by a couple smaller peaks – another big peak ...smaller peaks and so forth; all capped with snow and a few trees splattered in. This terrain seems to have no real continuity to it. From rolling sand to jagged peaks dotted with mesquite - to the sharp ravines rimmed with random fields of massive boulders. Spots of cactus, Joshua Trees and grease wood shoot up here and there. It is a visual surprise and it's always unexpectedly different. It is as if God is an abstract artist.

And then there is LasVegas. Not sure what God was thinking with this one. Definitely abstract – in a Picasso – ear where your mouth should be sort of way. You're traveling along through the desert, pop over a hill and bang...there it is sprawled out in all it's neon, felt top, one armed bandit glory. Now to avoid the heart of it at all costs.

I had been warned of the white knuckle run through Vegas and the dreaded Spaghetti Bowl that sat at its cold, black asphalt center. Story's tell of the wayward traveler caught in the perpetual loop of traffic circle hell for weeks...I dreaded it almost as much as I had the Ely weather horrors.

I had Google mapped a route that bypassed the “Spaghetti Bowl” by way of Lake Mead. I was determined to cheat the pasta hell of it's next victim. I jumped off the interstate at Exit 45...proud of my victory. Take that Spaghetti Bowl! My smugness quickly faded as Gigi the GPS barked: ...LEFT!! Get in the second lane from the left! Now you idiot! Quick! Too late...you missed it. Loser.

The left lane change came too quick for this country girl. I couldn't make it over without crashing into a limo from the Graceland wedding chapel. Did you know you can get married in Vegas by an Elvis impersonator? Don't ask me how I know this. There isn't enough Fireball in Vegas for me to retell that story.

Anyhow – I'd missed my cutoff. Gigi stumbled with her reroute calculations: Turn South in 400ft

The dreaded Spaghetti Bowl

...East...turn East...no, wait, that's not right...turn North in 30 feet. What the hell. Just drive until I figure this shit out. Gigi eventually got us back on the interstate headed to Exit 43. The Spaghetti Bowl exit. There was no turning back now. We were committed. Close your eyes- throw on a blinker and go for it. The Spaghetti Bowl wasn't as bad as I'd worked myself into believing. That happens a lot – things are seldom as bad as you fear. I guess that's where the saying: There is nothing to fear but fear itself comes from. Except Sharks – fear those creepy bastards.

I had made it out of Vegas and nobody died – at least not in direct relation of my actions thus far. It's obvious by now that I do not understand the intricacies of the US road systems. It is my belief the civil engineers who designed them either had a sadistic sense of humor or were drunk. I didn't know if I was on 515, 15 or 11. Turns out, I was on each of them...all at the same time in some stretches. Why give the same road several different numbers? There are plenty of numbers out there fellas – it's not like you needed to conserve by duplication.

Once I hit 93, things began to smooth out a little. Smooth out as in less hectic, NOT smooth out as in smooth road. The closer I got to Arizona, the rougher the road became. I followed 93 South over the Hoover Dam with glimpses of the Colorado.

The sign said: Arizona Last Stop – Monster Trucks, Firearms and The American Flag. Was I in Arizona? I looked around for cactus. No cactus. No welcome to Arizona sign. That is another thing I noticed about Nevada and Arizona. There aren't many instructions to get your through your daily routine. As an example: Road construction. There will be one sign and one sign only: Road work ahead – 45 mph. Whether you slow down or not is entirely up to you. There isn't going to be an orange clad flagger cautioning you again to pay attention. There isn't going to be a pilot car holding your little hand and escorting you safely through the maze of machinery and orange cones. If you can't figure out you're still in construction and need to slow it down – you'll find out soon enough when you hit that pot hole going 75 and end up with the wrong view of the Hoover.

Still no cactus. I had to google my location to verify I was indeed in Arizona. Where was the damn cactus? I didn't come 900 miles to see sagebrush. I can see that from my back door!

I pulled over at a scenic wide spot to take a break (that's code for pee) and take official tourist pictures of the Colorado with the rest of the Asian people. Asian is about the only nationality I have not been mistaken for. Today, I felt Asian. That group was smiling from ear to ear taking selfies from every angle imaginable. They even took selfies of themselves taking selfies! I worried for them when they all climbed on the wall to take an action shot jumping off said wall. I was relieved for them when their feet hit ground on the right side of the cliff.

Speaking of having to pee. Rest areas are few and far between here along the 93. When you do find one, don't be surprised if it consists of a wide spot and 2 porta-potties. I was thankful to be carrying my own facilities on more than one occasion.

I continued down 93 in search of cactus. Still no damn cactus but they sure have a lot of towns called Crossover around here! Every few miles you come to a sign for Crossover – ¼ mile. But you never actually reach it. Must be the same folks that named the highways – they used the same name for every town on a 30 mile stretch. By the end of that 30 miles it dawned on me what a crossover really is: A spot in the median to “crossover” to the other side of the highway. Don't judge me. I'm from Idaho. We call them “flipping a bitch.”

I don't know what Grasshopper Junction is – but it's for sale! Chocolate covered grasshoppers maybe? I believe I shall pass on both. Oh sweet! I am within 60 miles of the Grand Canyon! A couple times I thought I'd made it all the way there. Turns out I'd just hit another pot-hole. No damn cactus yet – but Arizona is littered with all the scenic pot-holes you never wanted.

First cacti sighting

Three minutes into a Marco-Polo session with my daughter...I catch a fleeting glimpse of it out my passenger window at 70 mph. The one thing my heart desired as the reason to coming to AZ. The elusive cacti! I'd survived Wells, Ely, Alamo horse thieves and the Vegas spaghetti bowl...only to damn near run off the road trying to snap a shot of my first Arizona cacti sighting! I'm normally the most careful driver you can be pulling horses – but this was a real live cacti – I'd ask the horses forgiveness later. I mashed on the breaks and fishtailed to a stop. I was getting a picture of that damn cacti if it killed us all.

I filled up in Wikieup (hey, that rhymes...I must be getting rummy) and made note of the horse hotel for future reference. Didn't appear as it would be too hard to find someplace to camp on my Arizona adventure should the need arise. A horse hotel AND a beer garden. What else does a girl on an adventure need?

The highways through this section of my journey are a unique culture all in themselves. Around every bend there was something interesting to see...or nothing at all. Literally – the word “NOTHING” sprawled across a large, dilapidated billboard that hung askew as if 'NOTHING' was clinging to something for all it's worth.

For Sale. An old 50's style gas station stood deserted at the junction of highway 93 and 71. I wondered what it was like in it's day. I imagine it was a growing concern before the addition of newer, faster routes rendered it obsolete. There was a sadness about it now. I longed to take it off the market. Rebuild it's old frame while maintaining the original patina. I'd hire struggling locals to work it – breathing life back into it's historical past at the same time creating income for those needing work. I should have been born a million dollar philanthropist instead of a middle class wanderer.

I was almost to Aguila. I hung a right off 71 onto 60. Cindy sent a text warning me to be careful on this last stretch of road. I was driving 5 miles over the speed limit. The majority of the cars passing me at dangerously excessive speeds bore California plates. Highway 60 is one of the main roads leading to Los Angeles from here. They drive almost as fast heading toward their State as they do moving out of it into others. Go figure.

I pulled into Family Dollar at Aguila and called Cindy. I am here. She gave directions on how to get to their place. Turn here – turn there – go past this old thing or that. It all made perfect sense until the part about being the last place on the hill. I head toward the only thing resembling a hill with ranchettes on it. I pulled into one (obviously not the right one) and asked a gal where I might find Crandalls. She pointed me in the right direction. Cindy met me at the end of her drive and led me the rest of the way home. I kidded her she may have lived in Arizona too long if she considers her place on a hill. In her defense – the road does slope uphill some.

Dave and Cindy all but set up my camp and had dinner on the table before I stepped out of the truck. Cindy had been texting enticing emoji's of sunshine and mimosa. I rattled off a thousand miles an our (road drunk and now slightly buzzed as well) as we sat down to the best Chorizo's ever. I shared my pumpkin cheesecake to die for before getting the best sleep in 4 nights.

No idea...I seem to be the only one in AZ that has seen this giant Indian billboard thing. 

The Pumpkin Cheesecake Diaries - 1-8-2020

Bubba remembers the Alamo

1-8-2020: I prepared a bunch of food for my trip south. Fried chicken, rice pudding, beef stew, grandma's oatmeal chocolate chip cookies and a double layer pumpkin cheesecake to die for. After I'm settled in for the night, I treat myself to a slice of pumpkin cheesecake. To die for. I am not a fan of pumpkin pie (detest it actually) so I was surprised to find I liked pumpkin cheesecake. Then again – anything with philly cream cheese is high on my list. I consider it a food group.

I woke up in Wells NV to sleet pelting the trailer by the frigid, driving wind. Dear God – just let me get out of here and to Ely in one piece. I was awake hours before I needed to be – listening to that relentless wind and peeking out the window to see if I was snowed in yet. It sounded much worse than it was. Thank you God. A skiff of snow was all she produced. I wasn't going to get any sleep. I crawled out of bed and went about morning chores of getting everybody fed and watered. I double checked the weather app – it looked promising all the way to Ely. I loaded the crew and we headed for the gas station. I always walk around my rig (usually several times) before taking off. Everything looked good. I fueled up at Loves and happened to glance in my side mirror. Every thing was not good. My front left trailer tire was all but flat. How did I miss that?

A quick Google of the closest tire shop yielded Pruett Tire, .2 miles away. You would think .2 miles would be a piece of cake. Nope. Something about under-passes and me do not jive. Why call it an under-pass – there are cars passing OVER ...why not call it a over-pass? The lady on the phone said to head North after passing over the under-pass. I swear. 2 miles later and I'm heading down that damn Great Basin Highway - once again in the wrong direction! This time I didn't hesitate to wait for a spot wide enough to flip a U-E. Instead, I turned into some unsuspecting ranchers driveway like I belonged there. What were they going to do, run me off?

I limp into Pruetts despite being directionally challenged. A tall, bearded man in a blue “Pruetts Tire” jacket saunters over. Doesn't say anything – just looks at me. I look back. I think to myself: I'm retired. I've got all day. This might be fun. I wonder how long I can stand here without saying anything before he asks me what I need? About 30 seconds into this little game he sort of nods “Sup..” Ok, Snowbird – we aren't in Les Schwab anymore. I explained my predicament. Bubba (I shall call him Bubba) simply turns around and walks back into the shop. Very slowly...we walks VERY slowly into a back entrance to the shop. Take your ever loving sweet time, Bubba.

I sort of shake my head and proceed to find the front door. A lady sits at the front desk enthralled in whatever she was doing. I'm guessing Game of Thrones. Like Bubba - “Sally” doesn't say anything until I interrupt her “work” and start to explain about my tire. She eventually gets around to asking if I've been helped about the same time Bubba reenters. Bubba walks to the water cooler and begins to fill a 2 liter bottle. I expect Bubba to say that yes, he is helping me. He continues to sloooowly fill the water bottle. I look at Bubba and back at Sally...then back to Bubba: “Pull through the alley. I'll meet you out back and tell you when to stop.” Great – I'm about to meet Bubba in the alley. At least we are getting somewhere. As slow as Bubba moves, I can jog to the police station and ask for help – no need to dial 911. Bubba disappears.

I wait for a while. The wind is ripping. I go inside to warm up and watch Sally's Mage beat the Orc Horde with a pouch of manna and pixy dust. I pick up an AARP magazine and get the giggles: If I weren't old enough for AARP already, I would be by the time Bubba got my tire fixed.

I wandered around the shop – used the bathroom, checked on my horses, etc. etc. Finally Bubba comes back - “Can't find anything wrong with your tire...it just doesn't have any air in it.” I swear. I didn't know how to respond. We went through various scenarios that might result in my tire loosing air. Bubba leaves again. I ask Sally: “So...I guess I'm done here?” “Yep,” she says. “No charge.” Sweet.

I walk out to my trailer expecting to leave. No Bubba...and no tire. WTF. I asked Jack if he'd seen him. Jack wasn't telling if he had. I wandered into the shop in search of Bubba. “I found a hole. It's an easy fix.” Bubba turns around and slowly saunters back into the dark corners of the shop. I decided right there and then that God was delaying my departure for a reason and to just go with it. I joined Sally at the front desk, picked up my AARP magazine and finished the article about what an awesome guy Tom Hanks is. He really is. I look forward to seeing his portrayal of another awesome guy: Mr. Rogers.

Bubba makes his final appearance with splendid and much anticipated news that my tire was now fixed AND he checked to make sure the others were OK. I thanked him profusely. I was so happy this happened here and not out in the middle of some godforsaken desert during a white-out. Sally took my 17 dollars and filled me in on a little known secret passageway out of Ely. It would save me a whole hour! I wondered...is that a people hour, or a Bubba hour?

I feel the need to add a disclaimer here. Bubba and Sally were actually really nice people. They got the job done and went out of their way with travel suggestions and checking all my tires. I've determined that people in Nevada in general operate on a different time dimension than some parts of the country. They are in no hurry and I think that is the way it should be. I thanked them both one more time – they wished me safe travels and I was off.

I held my breath all the way to Ely expecting the blizzard to hit any moment. It seemed too good to be true. The sun was bright and the pavement dry. I ran into several small snow flurries here and there but nothing to write home about. The cut off Sally suggested proved a success as well! I got a little turned around in the town of Ely itself only because of the difficulty navigating a large rig through old, narrow streets that were likely designed for foot and hoof traffic.

The cutoff out of Ely consisted of finding “The Six.” US 6 takes you to 318...318 then meets back up with 93. Beautiful, scenic drive with cool, old small towns that made you feel like you had stepped back in time. The White River Narrows with their red cliffs and impressive rock formations was my favorite part. The worst part was not being able to stop and take pictures. I wanted to pull over every few miles and snap a shot of this old building or that breathtaking mountain range. If I could make one suggestion it would be to put in turn-outs in a few spots along 318 for people to stop and take pictures. They do that around the Tetons. Then again – that would probably attract more tourists and ruin the whole atmosphere that exists now. There was enough trash scattered at what turn outs I could find. I pretty much think littering should be a hanging offense.

20 miles out of Ely and it became clear it was time to shed the long johns. The temperature visibly climbed a degree every few miles until it hoovered around 50 degrees. I'd made it out of the worst section. I was giddy.

I found the Alamo Rodeo Grounds without a hitch. At $13:00 a night – I might stay a week. Not really – but I'm sure not going to be in a hurry tomorrow. I could use a good nights sleep without worrying about bad roads and blizzards.

As I was scoping out pens for the horses, a man from the only other RV on site came up to ask if I needed help. He and his wife Renee were from Rupert Idaho. Small world. This was their first year without horses. John invited me over for a beer when I got settled in. Normally I am not a beer drinker but I wasn't turning this one down. I deserved this beer.

Now out of the freezing zone – I went about de-winterizing my LQ and filling the water tanks. Finally...a flushable toilet! Now for that beer! John introduced himself as John Smith. Sure you are, John. “No really,” he said – “that is my name. John Smith.” I said cool...my name is Marsha...Marsha Smith. He said: “Really??” I said no...not really but I don't believe you are John Smith, either. He just smiled and agreed that I'd probably worked in a prison too long. Speaking of prisons...they actually call them prisons here in Nevada. Not like Oregon where you have to call them Correctional Facilities or risk being written up and sent to “how to be a snowflake detention.”

John, Renee and I discussed the best way to get through Vegas without driving through “the spaghetti bowl.” If you see the traffic pattern on a map it looks exactly like a giant bowl of spaghetti. I'm going to try and avoid it at all cost. I managed to make it through Wells and Ely unscathed – I have no intentions of dying an a giant bowl of pasta.

I thanked my new friends for the beer and we agreed to try and meet up in Wickenburg on down the road. I've noticed one thing about traveling alone; you tend to meet more people. I don't know why that is, exactly. Maybe people are more likely to approach a harmless looking gal on her own...or maybe I am more likely to engage in conversation when I'm out adventuring. Whatever the reason – it's kind of cool and I look forward to meeting up with the “Smiths” again some day soon.

I can honestly say that this is one Alamo, I won't soon forget.

The Pumpkin Cheesecake Diaries - 1-7-2020

Arizona Snowbird

1-7-2020: Arizona or BUST

I am a snowbird. It sounds better than: I am an old lady doing what all the other old folks do in the winter... head for Arizona. It was time I found out what being retired is all about. I shut off the water to the house, turned down the oil heat to just above freezing, shut off the lights and packed every pair of underwear I own.

And waited...my traveling partner was having a hard time getting free of work and other obligations. We were leaving Tuesday for sure...then Wednesday, then maybe Thursday if everything comes together. I have two issues with that: 1. I was watching the weather and some gnarly looking storms were coming in starting Thursday. I'm a huge chicken when it comes to hauling on bad roads. 2. I packed every pair of underwear I own. I had to leave!

I finished cramming my LQ full of everything a person, two dogs and two horses might need for who knows how long. I had a set plan on day of departure in my head – the rest...pretty much shooting from the hip. I was told not to de-winterize my LQ since it can get pretty dang cold down here in Nevada. I can attest to that as I sit here typing this in Wells Nevada in my triple layer fuzzy socks my mom got me for Christmas. I packed a 7 gallon container of water to flush the toilet and water the horses in the event I didn't find a place to board.

Boarding. Nobody knows what their address is here in Nevada. Google doesn't know either and I thought the big G new everything. I got on-line to hunt down boarding facilities along the way. I found several...none with an actual address. I called numbers on each one – no answer. Finally, a fellow shooter got a hold of another fellow shooter ...who possible knew of a place to board. No address though - and the phone number was one of the outdated information on the website. I figured how hard can it be? If I actually make it alive to Wells, I'll worry about where to park my ass at that time. If all else failed, I would pull into the local rodeo grounds – which, by the way – does not allow over-nighters. Perhaps whoever comes to throw me out will know of a place to board!

Armed with vague directions to a boarding facility; “Turn into town – go left – go South past the ugly blue barn – go down three houses – turn left at the sign with the cow on it. Something like that. Hard to read the text when your frantically trying not to run over grandma on her way to the slots.

I pulled into a gas station to ask directions. The only thing I really learned at said gas station is gay men, really hot gay men, have no clue about horse boarding facilities...but damn it, he would give me directions even if they were wrong. And they were.

5 miles out of town on The Great Basin highway toward some place called “Melandco” it was apparent I needed to find a spot big enough to flip a “U-E” in a 33ft goose-neck. Back in the correct general direction (really just a guess) and barely avoiding colliding with granny once again – I stumbled onto the rodeo grounds. Sure enough – just past the rodeo grounds stood a big blue barn. Was that the really ugly barn? Didn't look ugly to me at all and it appeared to have stalls. I like blue. I'm checking it out.

I inquired at a double wide parked on-site. The folks inside didn't own the barn/arena anymore – but they were more than willing to let me board my horses and hook up for the night. The not-so-ugly barn turned out to be a fairly nice indoor arena with stalls along both sides. I settled the horses in and went about setting up camp.

The electrical didn't work. I was going to freeze my ass off here in Wells. I called the number on the wall and left a message. “Wilde Brough” (coolest name ever) called me back in short order. Wilde walked me through where to find the breaker box. Was I on the south end? The South East end? By the time I was finished trying to explain which side of the barn I was parked on – I had Wilde doubting I was even in Wells.

With a little deductive reasoning on which direction the sun was setting and a LOT of trial and error – I managed to flip the correct breaker. I called Wilde back to let him know he didn't need to make a trip in. He was happy to hear I wouldn't be freezing my ass of in Wells Nevada and I promised to tell all of his Snow Bird friends HI when I got to Arizona. He failed to mention just who those people are by name – but I get the feeling after talking to him that just about anybody you ran across in these parts would know Wilde Brough.

Before I go to sleep tonight – I will pray for clear roads again tomorrow. I keep hearing that if I make it to Ely – I'm golden. My weather app says 40% chance of precipitation for Wells tonight. I will try to put more faith in Gods answered prayers than the weather bug app.

Trail Log: 1-4-2020

• Trail: Adrian Sand Hills
• Miles: 8.8
• Riders: Self - Lee - Cynthia
• Horses: Jack -J - Prince - Rio
• Dogs: Hank - Cash (Shade at trailer)

Notes: Jack is apparently healed up from his stone bruise and feeling his oats. I swear sometimes it feels like that horses' hooves never touch the ground. Good to have him back. Even J'Bird had more go than usual - I rode Jack in and J out. Lee picked a great spot with awesome ground for barefoot horses just getting over a stone bruise.

A little paint stud paid us a visit from across the fence. Jack got pretty stirred up over that. I guess he thought the paint might run off with J. At any rate - he wasn't paying much attention to me so we left Lee and Cynthia and dove off the side to climb some hills. I thought Lee and Cynthia saw what I was doing. They did not. My plan was to tire Jack out climbing up and down ravines and then reconnect with Lee and Cynthia back on top. Unbeknownst to me, they thought Jack was still sore-footed and I'd gone back. When I popped back on the road - I could see tracks heading back and a few continuing on. I followed the tracks for awhile before catching site of them trotting up from behind. They had indeed gone back looking for me. My bad - I should have made sure they knew my intentions when I dove off the ridge. We continued on no worse for wear.

It was beautiful day when the sun was out. Not so much when the wind picked up on top the ridges.  Still, at it's coldest it was nice for a January day. We found a trail that headed back to the trailers that meandered through the bottom out of the wind. A nice short ride to stretch the horses legs before the long haul south in a few days.

Lee and Cindy are out there somewhere!