Our route from Grand Canyon to Death Valley took us through Utah. Not much of it. That is to come later.
We were in Utah when we stopped for the night in Washington. Not Washington D.C. you understand, but a town called Washington in the state of Utah. There are lots of Washingtons, at least 28 according to Wikipedia, and that's not counting places which incorporate “Washington” in a larger name such as Fort Washington.
No free camping under trees in Washington, UT, but there was free parking at Walmart. The store readily gave permission but warned that the local police may drop by and “ask a few questions”. There were about half a dozen RVs in the parking lot that night and as far as we know none of them were visited by the police.
Gregory was due for another oil change. Many Walmarts have an “Auto Center” that offers that service, including the one in Washington, UT. Alas, they did not have the room to work on such a large vehicle. Nor did the Jiffy Lube nearby. Eventually we got the lube done at Walmart in a different town.
Back in Arizona for an hour or two. An Arizona with different geology. Notice that the layers of rock here are not horizontal as they are in the Grand Canyon.
Friends in New Zealand had recommended that we visit Las Vegas to see for ourselves just how tacky it is. Our route was taking us through showers along interstate highway I-15 into Nevada and towards Las Vegas. We got close enough to see the high-rise silhouette of the big casinos but that was close enough. There wasn't enough time to see all the beautiful places in America, so why devote a day to the tacky?
We turned aside towards Amargosa. The showers became heavy rain.
The attractions of Amagosa were:
- Proximity to Death Valley; and
- An inexpensive RV park. Only $25 per night for a hookup.
The scenery was unexciting but, after the rain stopped, the driving was easy. Amargosa was not a big settlement. In fact, it appeared to consist of only two properties, both selling fuel and otherwise catering to the traveller. The RV park was part of the property on the West side of the highway. As well as gasoline, it sold groceries and ran a cafe decorated with an aliens theme.
The campground had a sign, “Office” beside a trailer. As we approached a window slid open and a man's face appeared. “What do you want?” He had an untidy beard, was wearing a white singlet and appeared to have raised himself up from his bed. We explained that we were interested in staying for the night. “$20. Water's undrinkable. Find yourselves a site and put the money in the post.” He indicated a metal pole nearby. “Goodnight” and the window slid closed with a bang. It was about 4pm.
We dutifully selected a site, plugged in and deposited a $20 bill in the pole.
Just because the water is not potable is no reason not to take a shower. We advanced to inspect the ablution block. There was a sign on the Ladies' door. As we were reading it the 'office' window slid back and the head shouted at us, as though addressing a particularly stupid child for the umpteenth time, “Use the glass door. Not that one. The glass door.” The sign on the usual door explained that access was through the laundry. Bill went to walk around the block to the Gents on the other side. “The glass door, I said.” And indeed both sexes accessed their separate facilities through the glass door of the laundry. The signs taped on the regular doors were typed, clear and polite. The bearded face was probably not the author.
The campground comprised rows of parallel sites, as is common, with enough trees to break up the straight lines and provide forage for many small birds.
A House Finch.
A Yellow Warbler shows off its colours.
One of America's many species of sparrow, we think. If you can identify which one please leave a comment.
There was still the odd shower around and we were treated to a fine rainbow.
It was a double rainbow, but the camera has not picked up the second bow as brightly as the human eye did.
The atmospheric conditions also gave us a memorable sunset.
In the morning the man with the bearded face was fully dressed and walking about the campground. We heard him shouting at someone.
Our morning drive would take us into California, which has the highest gasoline taxes in the country. We applaud the state's efforts to reduce emissions, but are pragmatic enough to want to avoid paying more of the tax than was absolutely necessary. So we determined to enter California with a full tank.
Of Amargosa's competing suppliers the one across the road was a couple of cents per gallon cheaper and therefore got our patronage.
The store. Apparently we were near the US Air Force facility known as Area 51. Conspiracy theorists believe that the remains of crashed UFO spacecraft are stored at Area 51.
No mincing of words here. The sign says exactly what business is conducted. We are told that brothels are quite legal in Nevada. There was also an electronic sign with text running across it, as often happens with television news programmes these days. This one described in more detail the services offered.
We now have an explanation for the eccentric behaviour of the man with the bearded face. It's obvious, really. He must be an alien. ;-)
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