USExplorer
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Welcome to my spring trip log. My journey this spring starts in Las Vegas Nevada, and will end at Grand Teton National Park May 10th, where I will begin work with a park concessionaire.
Routine maintenance: Having noticed my brakes squeaking, I replaced the one set of pads that was running low in the Walmart parking lot. It is not hard to do, and it will save you a lot of money.
The Vegas area has a great chain of dollar stores called 99 cent only. Lots of discounted bread, fresh produce, and other items not normally found in a dollar store. While the Kroger charges $3.99/lb for grapes, here the same grapes only cost 99 cents a pound. 6 ounces of blackberries, 99 cents. Knockoff Velvetta mac and cheese dinners, the same.
I spent Friday night in the desert outside Boulder City next to the River Mountains loop trail near the intersection of 93 and 95. Back where only the moon lit the night. After sleeping in late there were bicyclists and joggers passing by regularly on the trail. I drove into the town of Boulder City and visited the Adventist Church outside of town. The members were very friendly, and invited me to their fellowship lunch. We discussed Adventist doctrine for a while but then they turned the subject to my travels, which as usual they found rather interesting. I ate plenty of vegetarian food and talked for a while with a young lady named Claire visiting her family here. She was studying to be a teacher in Walla Walla Washington but hoped someday to travel the world after saving up some money. I told her that if she was willing to take the time she could travel on a very small budget. After chatting for a while, her dad came over to the table and looked at me suspiciously for a moment, but then determined I had no nefarious purposes and wished me well in my journey.
I headed down to the town laundromat and read a book of short stories ("Ford County Stories") by John Grisham that I found very amusing. Before I knew it my clothes were done, and I drove 93 down the long hill to the Hoover Dam, which is only six miles away from town. The new bypass bridge was crowded with tourists, but there was no parking along the bridge and no view from the bridge either. I crossed into Arizona and turned around and drove down the old road, but turned around before the sign that said "No Firearms". The administration sure makes it difficult for gun owners. The closest parking lot for those with guns in their vehicles is at the Hoover Dam Lodge, a good three and a half mile hike in. Even the smallest pocketknives are prohibited on the Dam, so I leave my knife in my truck and put a gallon of water in my backpack and begin hiking down the trail.
A few families trudged down the gentle grade, and I soon passed them. The surrounding country was far from gentle, scarred with ravines and rock outcroppings in numerous colors. The sun shined down weakly through high clouds, and the air temperature was in the mid 80s with very little wind or humidity. The trail passed through half a dozen tunnels bored through the rock and traversed numerous embankments filling up canyons. Eventually it ended up at the dam parking deck, which was completely deserted. The dam itself had a few pedestrians on it. The top of the dam looks remarkably ordinary, although the water of the lake is 150 feet below the road level. The downstream side was a long and very steep concrete slope, dropping 750 feet down to the spillway at the bottom. The new bypass bridge hung over the top of the canyon, far higher than the canyon was wide. Even though I was carrying a large black backpack no security guards bothered me.
I walked out onto the bypass bridge. Signs strictly prohibited dropping objects from the bridge, but no physical barriers prevented such activity. In fact several people have jumped to their death from this nearly 900 foot high bridge already. Several tourists walked about on the bridge snapping selfies of themselves with the dam in the background. I decided to take Route 93 straight back to the lodge rather than take the curving rail trail. There were no signs or barriers prohibiting pedestrians on the road, so I set out expecting to have a dam cop on my back with lights flashing at any moment. No one bothered me though, and I walked all the way back to the lodge and ate some kippers and crackers.
The Hoover Dam Lodge was recently renovated but had a very laid back atmosphere. Inside was a casino, bar and general store, the former two frequented exclusively by retirees. Like every casino I've been to, they didn't have any water fountains. Outside I used the free but slow WiFi. RVs were parked both in the lodge parking lot and in a large gravel lot across the road. By 8:30 I decided to move across the highway and parked a short distance from a pickup with someone sleeping in the bed with no camper top. Because the night was so warm (78 degrees), I didn't want to sleep inside my sunbaked vehicle, so I threw the mattress pad on top and relaxed up there reading "Ford County Stories" until I fell asleep. I've gone from hiding my vehicle out of sight in the woods like sleeping was a crime to snoozing on the roof for all to see without a care. This is what the West does to a camper.
The air temperature dropped to 60 or thereabouts by morning, and I was cold much of the night; I need to be more adaptable. I woke up around 8:00 with the sun roasting me, and drove back into Boulder City. The church I stopped off at was one of those non-denominational churches with a middle-aged pastor in casual attire who used animal videos from YouTube to make a point about what I was not clear. Like most such churches they were indifferent to visitors; having visited such churches many times I knew what to expect.
After church I drove down to the library, which is open on Sunday afternoons, a rare treat. An old guy was napping across the bench seat of a tiny pickup truck by the park, bare feet hanging out the passenger side window. I cooked a mac and cheese dinner and ate it and then looked around in vain for any water fountain or public bathroom to fill a bottle and clean the pot. Every spigot had the handle removed. I swear, I will buy a handle of my own and defeat all these people who take the handles off spigots. Acres of brilliantly green lawns, but not a pint of drinking water.
A note on water usage: as becoming the landscape I live in, I am very conservative with water. A shower once a week (on average) uses about ten gallons of water. Use of public restrooms, probably another seven gallons a week (more in city, zero in nature). Drinking and cooking, another five gallons a week. 22 gallons a week, not counting the water in the food I eat; The average American uses about 100 gallons a DAY.
1941: Vegas contrasts right off the Boulevard; a barren desert lot next to a high rise surrounded by a green palm oasis, a snow-capped mountain wilderness a half hours drive away.
1942: The ruler-straight Boulder Highway from the Railroad Pass grade, Henderson in the foreground, Vegas downtown on the left in the back. How I could enjoy a stay in a living antithesis to my life principles is a mystery to me.
1944: Lake Mead from the overlook. The ring is visible on this mid-lake island.
1945: The rail trail, passing through two short tunnels on its way down to the dam.
1946: The desert looks barren from a distance but up close it is very green and vibrant. Formerly sickly yellowish creosote bushes are now full of bright green leaves and yellow flowers, and the prickly pears are blooming. Wildflowers perfume the air everywhere.
Routine maintenance: Having noticed my brakes squeaking, I replaced the one set of pads that was running low in the Walmart parking lot. It is not hard to do, and it will save you a lot of money.
The Vegas area has a great chain of dollar stores called 99 cent only. Lots of discounted bread, fresh produce, and other items not normally found in a dollar store. While the Kroger charges $3.99/lb for grapes, here the same grapes only cost 99 cents a pound. 6 ounces of blackberries, 99 cents. Knockoff Velvetta mac and cheese dinners, the same.
I spent Friday night in the desert outside Boulder City next to the River Mountains loop trail near the intersection of 93 and 95. Back where only the moon lit the night. After sleeping in late there were bicyclists and joggers passing by regularly on the trail. I drove into the town of Boulder City and visited the Adventist Church outside of town. The members were very friendly, and invited me to their fellowship lunch. We discussed Adventist doctrine for a while but then they turned the subject to my travels, which as usual they found rather interesting. I ate plenty of vegetarian food and talked for a while with a young lady named Claire visiting her family here. She was studying to be a teacher in Walla Walla Washington but hoped someday to travel the world after saving up some money. I told her that if she was willing to take the time she could travel on a very small budget. After chatting for a while, her dad came over to the table and looked at me suspiciously for a moment, but then determined I had no nefarious purposes and wished me well in my journey.
I headed down to the town laundromat and read a book of short stories ("Ford County Stories") by John Grisham that I found very amusing. Before I knew it my clothes were done, and I drove 93 down the long hill to the Hoover Dam, which is only six miles away from town. The new bypass bridge was crowded with tourists, but there was no parking along the bridge and no view from the bridge either. I crossed into Arizona and turned around and drove down the old road, but turned around before the sign that said "No Firearms". The administration sure makes it difficult for gun owners. The closest parking lot for those with guns in their vehicles is at the Hoover Dam Lodge, a good three and a half mile hike in. Even the smallest pocketknives are prohibited on the Dam, so I leave my knife in my truck and put a gallon of water in my backpack and begin hiking down the trail.
A few families trudged down the gentle grade, and I soon passed them. The surrounding country was far from gentle, scarred with ravines and rock outcroppings in numerous colors. The sun shined down weakly through high clouds, and the air temperature was in the mid 80s with very little wind or humidity. The trail passed through half a dozen tunnels bored through the rock and traversed numerous embankments filling up canyons. Eventually it ended up at the dam parking deck, which was completely deserted. The dam itself had a few pedestrians on it. The top of the dam looks remarkably ordinary, although the water of the lake is 150 feet below the road level. The downstream side was a long and very steep concrete slope, dropping 750 feet down to the spillway at the bottom. The new bypass bridge hung over the top of the canyon, far higher than the canyon was wide. Even though I was carrying a large black backpack no security guards bothered me.
I walked out onto the bypass bridge. Signs strictly prohibited dropping objects from the bridge, but no physical barriers prevented such activity. In fact several people have jumped to their death from this nearly 900 foot high bridge already. Several tourists walked about on the bridge snapping selfies of themselves with the dam in the background. I decided to take Route 93 straight back to the lodge rather than take the curving rail trail. There were no signs or barriers prohibiting pedestrians on the road, so I set out expecting to have a dam cop on my back with lights flashing at any moment. No one bothered me though, and I walked all the way back to the lodge and ate some kippers and crackers.
The Hoover Dam Lodge was recently renovated but had a very laid back atmosphere. Inside was a casino, bar and general store, the former two frequented exclusively by retirees. Like every casino I've been to, they didn't have any water fountains. Outside I used the free but slow WiFi. RVs were parked both in the lodge parking lot and in a large gravel lot across the road. By 8:30 I decided to move across the highway and parked a short distance from a pickup with someone sleeping in the bed with no camper top. Because the night was so warm (78 degrees), I didn't want to sleep inside my sunbaked vehicle, so I threw the mattress pad on top and relaxed up there reading "Ford County Stories" until I fell asleep. I've gone from hiding my vehicle out of sight in the woods like sleeping was a crime to snoozing on the roof for all to see without a care. This is what the West does to a camper.
The air temperature dropped to 60 or thereabouts by morning, and I was cold much of the night; I need to be more adaptable. I woke up around 8:00 with the sun roasting me, and drove back into Boulder City. The church I stopped off at was one of those non-denominational churches with a middle-aged pastor in casual attire who used animal videos from YouTube to make a point about what I was not clear. Like most such churches they were indifferent to visitors; having visited such churches many times I knew what to expect.
After church I drove down to the library, which is open on Sunday afternoons, a rare treat. An old guy was napping across the bench seat of a tiny pickup truck by the park, bare feet hanging out the passenger side window. I cooked a mac and cheese dinner and ate it and then looked around in vain for any water fountain or public bathroom to fill a bottle and clean the pot. Every spigot had the handle removed. I swear, I will buy a handle of my own and defeat all these people who take the handles off spigots. Acres of brilliantly green lawns, but not a pint of drinking water.
A note on water usage: as becoming the landscape I live in, I am very conservative with water. A shower once a week (on average) uses about ten gallons of water. Use of public restrooms, probably another seven gallons a week (more in city, zero in nature). Drinking and cooking, another five gallons a week. 22 gallons a week, not counting the water in the food I eat; The average American uses about 100 gallons a DAY.
1941: Vegas contrasts right off the Boulevard; a barren desert lot next to a high rise surrounded by a green palm oasis, a snow-capped mountain wilderness a half hours drive away.
1942: The ruler-straight Boulder Highway from the Railroad Pass grade, Henderson in the foreground, Vegas downtown on the left in the back. How I could enjoy a stay in a living antithesis to my life principles is a mystery to me.
1944: Lake Mead from the overlook. The ring is visible on this mid-lake island.
1945: The rail trail, passing through two short tunnels on its way down to the dam.
1946: The desert looks barren from a distance but up close it is very green and vibrant. Formerly sickly yellowish creosote bushes are now full of bright green leaves and yellow flowers, and the prickly pears are blooming. Wildflowers perfume the air everywhere.