Wire, Glass & Cans

Mostly bits of wire, possibly from a fence, but also broken
glass, chicken wire, aluminum something or another, and
an old style pull-tab can.

One of the nice things about the rain is how it uncovers buried things. Like bits of trash and construction debris.

Coat Hanger Valley yields lot of interesting stuff. A brief stroll on its west side, staring at the ground, and within ten or fifteen minutes, I have a bucketful of wire, broken glass, and other non-indigenous items.

I don't like non-indigenous items. I collect trash, sometimes even concrete debris, and put it in the garbage can.

Except that so far I have saved three coat hangers from oblivion. The three are hanging on palo verde branches.

Coat Hanger Valley is getting a strolling-friendly makeover. I'm beginning to think of it as Shangri-La Valley. Maybe when I've done more work to complete path that traverses the west side, I'll start calling it Shangri-La. That's when I will remove the three coat hangers. Maybe.

Welcome Rain

It already has been a pretty good monsoon season with decent rainfall. Now we are getting even more, and it's quite late in the season.

Here are some snaps of San Simeon with grey skies and drizzle.

My thanks to Judy's greed for the blog. I'm always happy to remind her that she and Ray did buy their retirement house in Tucson. All they need do now is retire.

Should I mention that the swimming pool temperature is well over ninety degrees? Probably not.

C'mon down. We'll leave the lights on.

Agamemnon in Vegas

Agamemnon at Gila Bend, the turn-off
from I-8 for the Peenix bypass to I-10,
with one of the two jet fighters
that stand guard at its municipal airport.

Agamemnon Jetson's greatest achievement to date, his longest excursion (leaving aside being dragged behind a U-Haul truck; see Haulin' U-Haul, or, the Laughlin Ride) and his greatest payload (if we ignore hauling paving bricks; see 500 Bricks & 600 lbs. of Sand) is three nights in Vegas.

The adventure began innocuously enough. My sister Irene was flying from Seattle to Las Vegas on Monday bringing our two cousins from Hungary, Laci and Judit whom I had never met before, in order to drive them to the Grand Canyon on Tuesday. They would return to Seattle on Wednesday.

I was invited to meet them somewhere along the way.

On the Vulture Mine Road, outside of
Wickenburg,  Shari's and my favorite shortcut.
Monday's monsoon washed it out,
so I had to drive through
Peenix on the drive back.

Innocuous until one looks at a map. I decided against any attempt to rendezvous at the Grand Canyon. I decided against flying to Vegas — tickets are too expensive, flying is a hassle, and it's only about seven hours driving time, which I love.  Irene was renting a car for the ten-hour return drive between Vegas and the Canyon, so all I had to take was myself. It was a job for the nimble Agamemnon.

The distances added up, but neither my sister nor I had factored in the budget, subcompact car she had rented (rated less comfortable than Agamemnon) or that she was its only insured driver.  I insisted upon taking Agamemnon to the Grand Canyon.

Four grown adults in a tiny car flying at Arizona freeway speeds (75 m.p.h. limit) on a day with predictions of 90% chance of rain. Cool.

Joshua Scenic Drive, AZ, on US 93
between Wickenburg and Wikieup.
Wikieup marks one edge of
the saguaro's habitat.

Our hotel in Vegas.

You know the joke, "How do you fit four elephants into a VW beetle? Two in the front and two in the back." It wasn't that bad at all, but Smoke Ganesha, our trusty Ford Explorer, would have been more comfortable and quieter.

Three nights in Vegas, some 1,450 miles (over 2,300 km.), and a total of about twenty-four hours on the road, burning gas at the ridiculously cheap rate of over 40 m.p.g., Agamemnon served us well. I patted its dashboard repeatedly in appreciation.

The heavy monsoon rains that caused so much flooding in Peenix and Tucson (see Monsoon Stories from Monday) also fell in Vegas. The weather was moving west, so the rain was scheduled to hit the Grand Canyon on Tuesday, the one day my sister and cousins had to make the ten-hour drive.

US 93 lookout over the Colorado River.

Hoover Dam.

We set out from Vegas at six in the morning. It had stopped raining, so my sister and I decided to stop at the nearby Hoover Dam. My thought was to let our cousins take pictures of something. My fear was that the Canyon would be socked in so badly that the only clouds would be visible. (That would have made one heck of a story, like standing on a beach watching underwater submarine racing.)

We saw the dam and Lake Mead at its lowest level since the dam was completed. A little farther along the way, we even saw the Colorado River from US 93 as it winds through the Mojave Desert from Vegas to Kingman.

Agamemnon at the Grand Canyon Visitors Center.

The weather held out until we turned north from I-40 towards the Park entrance to the south rim. We were headed towards some very dark, menacing clouds. Sure enough, it started raining just as we pulled up at the entrance.

We sheltered in the Visitors Center until the rain eased up a bit. My sister and cousins were more prepared than I. They had brought hooded jackets and an umbrella. (Well, they had flown down from Seattle.) I encouraged them to walk through the drizzle to the nearby look-out and see what could be seen.

Five or ten minutes later, the rain eased up even more and I ventured out myself. The Canyon was staggeringly beautiful.

The pleasure that Laci and Judit got from witnessing some of the world's most stunning and famous scenery made it all worth while. Actually, making connection with family from my mother's side, walking the Vegas strip together, and chatting for a day and a half in Hungarian all made my adventure wonderful. The miles just flew by.

Judit and Laci at Yaki Point.

On our way back from the Canyon, we decided to gas up and have something to eat at Williams. ("Vilmos", said Laci, citing the Hungarian equivalent name.) As if God was reminding us how specially She had treated us, it rained heavily the entire time we were in Williams. I had images of having to drive petite Agamemnon carrying four adults past the dense spray and splash of huge trucks hydroplaning at freeway speeds. But by the time Irene paid the restaurant tab and we got back onto I-40, the rain had stopped and the road was already dry.

We arrived back in Vegas after nightfall to see the full moon rising. At five the next morning, I set out to return to Tucson, arriving at twelve-thirty. Agamemnon and I are good buddies.

"Agamemnon in Vegas." You may ask, "What about Las Vegas itself?" That's another story.

Monsoon Stories from Monday

The heavy monsoon rains in the Southwest this last Monday made national news and prompted family and friends to inquire whether we were alright. Yes, we are, but not without some stories. Probably everyone in the Southwest has stories.

Our major story is four days suffering internet withdrawal due to the loss of our telephone connection. More on that in the It-Takes-a-CenturyLink post below, postscript 4.

The broken pieces might make a nice feature in Coat Hanger Valley.

Major damage at our portion of the San Simeon ranch was limited to one of our three large Oaxacan clay pots, blown over by the wind.

Actually, this had happened several years before. When we brought it home, I just stood it up and stuck an old century plant agave shoot in it. I figured I could stabilize it with earth and rocks inside later, as I had the other two identical pots we had set up in the backyard.

One should not underestimate the power of wind in the Sonoran Desert. The thin skeleton of the agave shoot was enough to catch the wind one night and knock the pot over. When we found it in the morning, we were devastated. Shari had painstakingly collected the pieces, glued and caulked them together, and we set it up again. I loaded dirt and rocks inside, then planted the old agave stalk inside.

It held up that way a long time, but I noticed the gaps in the repaired breaks were getting disturbingly wider and wider. Until Monday's monsoon when the repairs failed and the pot resumed its former, fragmented configuration.

Caught in the act at the
Stratosphere, Sin City.

The origin of our third story from San Simeon and Monday's monsoon lies with the idiots who laid out our backyard. It's a large area paved with concrete and brick that slopes towards the house. When it rains heavily, it floods inside through two back doors.

One should not underestimate the power of rain in the Sonoran Desert. For some reason, they too often build houses here with little regard for monsoon rain. My theory is that the long periods of sunny weather addles their critical thinking.

I had caulked strips of wood to the concrete outside the two vulnerable doors to serve as dams. Even so, when it rains heavily, I enjoy taking our shop-broom and sweeping water in the rain. The heavy rains usually last maybe ten or twenty minutes. I also had installed a two inch drain pipe that can handle the rest.

Shari, with her bad back, swept water for three hours on Monday.

Moi?  With psychic premonition, I skipped town on Sunday for Las Vegas and enjoyed the much more gentle Mojave Desert monsoon rain on Monday, leaving Shari at home to deal with flooding and the phone outage. I should add that she was happy to see me on Wednesday.