The big outing!

Present time:

A sudden plan developed to head to Albuquerque tomorrow. The nice thing about being quasi-retired now is that overnighters don't have to be planned weeks in advance. This will be the first time that we have ventured that far from the ranch since arriving here and we are looking forward to this big outing. With the roads in their current condition, it will probably take 3 to 4 hours to arrive at our first stop on the long errand list. Items already secured thanks to our friend there and simply waiting to be picked up are a few more solar panels and a very large water storage tank. He has also lined up our itinerary to visit some alternative energy shops that he is familiar with. The neighbor has kindly agreed to take care of the young Aussie Shepherd pup and we just have to hope that the cats won't get rowdy and seek revenge for our overnight absence. Maybe they will see the benefit of unusual amounts of food available and having the bed all to themselves for a change.

I only wish that we had a few more days in the city. One thing I really miss is being close enough to do regular yard sale and junk shop runs. It's surprising how much money you can save by finding useful, practical items at second hand prices. The full retail cost to date of replacing the rather mundane items that we had to leave behind has been unsettling. Anything from good quality Tupperware to yard tools - it will add up quickly. Don't ever find yourself in the position we did; leave plenty of time to determine what comes with and what goes and don't get distracted with unexpected projects if you can help it.

Lin

Next likely post: Sunday night - if the creek don't rise.

That first long, cold night

Retrospect

November 15^th, 2005 - Part 2

We opened the doors of the cat carriers and each cat took its first curiosity-filled steps out into our new abode, heads cautiously bobbing up and down as they vacuumed in the sights and smells of this new environ. Taking their cue, the litter box was one of the first of our set-up tasks. That sanctuary, once established, soothed them enough to settle in. If only we could have adapted that quickly.

The creeping cold reminded us that priorities had to be addressed. Our friend in Albuquerque had lent us a benign kerosene heater which once heated his motorcycle restoration shop. We dragged the unit in from the truck and set it centrally in the fairly open kitchen and living room space, filled it with fresh fuel and lit it up. We exchanged troubled glances briefly as the expected brilliant flame did not materialize but formed a thin and quivering pencil-lead sized glow in blue around the wick. We frantically set to manipulating every conceivable knob and adjustment to be found but no improvement ensued. We assembled the new camping chairs and circled them closer to the burner like threatened prairie schooners with expectation of relief ... none came. We eventually unpacked the new Target comforter meant for the bed and drew it around our shoulders and eventually our heads like a sloppy teepee. Still no comforting heat. My toes began to complain in aching, burning ways and the cats had crept in beneath the camp chairs and curled their extremities inwards like sage Mandarins hiding their upper limbs within great sheltering sleeves. We were all in this together, freezing our collective assets off. It is times like this when the march of seconds and minutes seem to cease at a molecular level, when the slow march towards another rising of the warming sun seems eternal or maybe even impossible. We struggled to make amusing conversation through chattering teeth. It echoed mockingly off barren walls and the cats remained stoic and unmoved by our efforts.

When huddled in such abject misery, normal, simple and practical thoughts can become utterly painful and dreaded contemplations. Eating. Pragmatism announced that it had likely been 12 hours since our last meal. We at least had the foresight to realize that dainty foods would not survive and we dug around in the also new Coleman cooler to make unadorned, undressed sandwiches from the hard salami which bobbed around in the ice water and the bread which sat on the grimy inherited cabinets. I found myself momentarily thinking back to the warm, clean and ample kitchen which I had left behind and had to mentally smack myself viciously to abandon those thoughts lest utter despair seize upon my resolve. The specter of that comfortable life left behind would become a daily goblin to wrestle with as the months advanced. Ahead, there would be many times when that goblin would nearly win the best two out of three falls, disqualified from the match only by the intervention of pure fate.

Next likely post: tomorrow or the day after (if the creek don't rise)

We really made it!

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Retrospect

November 15^th, 2005 - Part 1

A lot happened in that one day. We were to meet a new neighbor who had arranged for finding, brokering and eventually receiving our 45' semi-trailer which now housed nearly all of our possessions. Without them, this move would have been nearly impossible. While we were met with a depressing string of "pooh-poohs" from our seemingly knowledgeable Midwestern neighbors when we first expressed our idea of buying a trailer outright and having it hauled to the Southwest, this couple came to the rescue with the most impressive "can do" attitude that I have encountered in years.

Moving was still an utter panic thanks to several factors which may be addressed later and we had to go buy a new 16’ trailer just to salvage a sparse few thousand dollars worth of belongings which the 45' trailer did not accommodate in those harried last days. It was a logistics nightmare which had the local medical resources threatening to confine me in a cardiac ward for several days of observation. If I can spare you such miseries by sharing those hard-earned insights, I certainly will do so gladly.

The trip down was a trial in itself. Our old friends from Albuquerque ran ahead of us in the Mercedes SL which they had just inherited from us. Without their no-nonsense moving help and experience gained from years of military moving and their distance from the emotional involvement that we were caught up in, we would have been utterly lost and unable to meet the departure deadline. The Dodge Dakota, even with the optional larger engine upgrade, did not pull the heavy trailer well through the steep Arkansas hills which we ran up and down on the way West. The ever-patient cats endured the trip much better than any of us. Still, it was enjoyable to be sharing an on-the-road adventure once again with old friends.

After using their Albuquerque home as a base for a month, we hoped that we were finally ready to head out into the boonies for good. We had found a '70s vintage mobile home (hereafter referred to as "the rat trailer") in a hurried pinch and arranged to have it hauled out to our new and barren homestead. This was a foray into a previously unknown segment of reality for us. Apparently the motto "In God we trust, all others pay cash" is the norm for this particular stock and trade. The hauler called in transit to inform us that the previous owners had not taken down the nailed-on porch roof as promised and that there would be an additional $200 charge. Assuming that they had professionally surveyed the scope of work prior to showing up, Mark protested the unexpected charge and the hauler's reply was "Fine, I can pull over right now and drop this thing by the side of the road." This was an ominous intro to this hope-filled new land and adventure.

After that resignation settled in, we headed into the wilderness ourselves from the north. We met the neighbor in charge of our semi-trailer and all headed out to the ranch; she and I up in the cab of the semi and their Roger the Lodger riding along with Mark in my truck. It was a lurching, giggy clutch kind of ride over the dirt roads with steep pitches into and out of the dry washes but (unbeknownst to us) the road conditions would be as good then as we might ever see again. Through the generosity of the head field honcho for one of the many gas well companies out here, the road had been freshly graded that same day in preparation for our arrival. We're not talking about a 1/4-mile long rough driveway either but a stretch of 5 miles with no other residences on it. That event marked one of the first of many kindnesses from the industry that would make our attempt to tame this long stubborn patch of no man's land even remotely possible.

The grader operator even cleared the sage and weed brush off a patch of land near the lonely barn for the semi trailer and rat trailer to find permanent footing upon. The neighbor ever so deftly jockeyed the big trailer backwards into position and then departed gracefully without great expectation or fanfare. This would be our first gentle prod to a renewed faith in the goodness still possible in mankind. There would be some rare but grave exceptions to follow but this would be the vanguard to discovering a region where so many people still held honorable and altruistic tendencies.

Meanwhile, the rat trailer was making its way ever closer from the south and we drove back out to rendezvous with them, just in time to find their entourage stopped and several of the helpers crudely stuffing the water heater back into its niche and nailing a wayward chunk of 2x4 over the door to secure it. About the time that we noticed a long trail of rusty water and eventual puddle which looked suspiciously like the rat trailer had just relieved itself, the rig driver, without intro, informed us that our plumbing and gas piping had torn off and was now inside the trailer ... no apologies, consolation or credit offered. There was, by now, a psychological numbness setting in that dictated, "Just get this done, we're homeless and the shadows are getting long and cold." I hung out the truck window to see around our burdensome 16' trailer to make sure that we didn't get too far in front of the procession and shuddered when the body of the rat trailer had to hug the solid mesa wall lest the rig venture too close to the ragged edge of the road overlooking the precipices. The driver later concurred that we should never attempt to bring anything so much as a foot wider down those roads.

The crew certainly knew their business well and the rat trailer effortlessly joined the semi-trailer on the newly cleared spot which we would be calling home from that moment forward. Even the hardened rat trailer hauler (who initially reminded me of "Skipper" from Gilligan's Island with a bad case of PMS) turned out to not be such a bad soul after all and at least offered the parting comment: "You seem like real decent folks and I really do wish you the best of luck out here." He already had our money and nothing to lose so I don't think his comment was anything but genuinely and kindly intended.

By the time the last sounds of their vehicles had stopped rebounding off the many canyon walls, the bitter cold swept in wolfishly at the heels of the retreating sun which dragged its orange companion sky down with it. The sudden omnipotent silence and cold brought home the reality that we were completely on our own now in this new and desolate expanse. The chill bit deeply into our hands as we unloaded a few makeshift, last minute supplies from the truck and, of course, the beloved boys - the two cats who had endured the last month and many miles in an ever patient and quiet manner. The quickly fading light made the tasks that much more painful and urgent.

We threw open the keyless door to the rat trailer. It was just as daunting as I had remembered it last - thirty years of minimal care, spottily, roughly veneered over about two decades ago and then largely ignored again. The shag rug, reminiscent of dead German Shepherd hide, grasped at the new fragments of the torn-off piping. Threatening soft spots beneath the carpet tried to suck our feet down into whatever lay below. Complete darkness descended just as we found the butane Coleman hastily secured from Target's camping department the night before. It shed a struggling light on the reality which was rapidly setting in. Were we absolutely out of our minds? It was now too cold to even consider such thoughts further, too much remained to be done before settling in for that long, cold first night's sleep.

Next likely post: tomorrow or the day after (if the creek don't rise) ... you wouldn't believe the things which have happened in the last two weeks.
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