It's the end of my first day in Arizona, the start of my second night. The sun is setting, my belly is full and there's just time for a little reflection before
I curl up on the desert floor once again.
Well... what is there in Western Arizona?
Big cacti – that's what. Well over 10 feet tall and 2 foot around in places. If you think of a cactus in the Arizona Desert you're thinking of this one. They look like they are waving at you with one big spiky arm, maybe more.
As soon as you cross the Colorado river these fellows can be seen dotted about the place. It seems they don't get on too well with each other mind you. The full grown ones seldom seem to come within 50 yards of each other! Each one has staked out his claim to a patch of the dusty gravel plains.
Big cacti aside, the overall impression if the place is this is Marlboro Man country. The wide rolling plains, the crumbly far off mountain ridges, the emptiness. It's really rather nice if you have an appreciation the barren side of life.
Western Arizona may well be a desert, but it isn't the slightest bit deserted. Snowbirds flock to these drier climes each year in their thousands.
Snowbirds are migratory humans. Like me they head off to the sun for the winter each year, returning to their nesting grounds in the spring once the harsh winter conditions have passed. Unlike me they seem to be people of a certain age, past retirement age that is.
Yes the Arizona Desert is awash with old American folks. Old folks with RVs: campervans as big as British buses often towing a trailer the size of a large UK caravan behind them, or perhaps a city car for getting around once they've got down here.
The cars parked outside the little grocery stores in these temporary villages all have license plates from up north: Maine, Montana and so on. Some of their occupants maybe a little less warm towards me than the Americans I've met so far. Occasionally I've picked up on an air of suspicion or nervousness from some, never present in California.
Maybe that's just old folks attitude towards the relatively young? Not that I'm a young trouble maker though - I'm 36 for God's sake!
However I am not in a car which is not normal at all, hmm suspicious isn't it? I also have a beard....hmm....You know what they say about men with beards...hmm.....their faces stay warm on colder evenings!
The land off the roadside is fenced off again. Unobtrusive and unsigned fences this time, they do not give off the, “we'll get you if you cross this line.” message of last week. Nonetheless they are a barrier to my my wild camping plans. I am a respectful person and I don't feel comfortable deliberately climbing over peoples fences when I'm a guest in their country.
I have noticed that where there are a lot of people living in RVs for the winter, there are also a lot of fences. Maybe the fences are there to stop the Snowbirds making themselves at home on the land, thus forcing them to pay the rent and stay in the countless RV parks. These no doubt prop up the local economy and protect the rest of the desert environment from the huge influx of people who seem to come here. Fair enough really, it's a good thing.
An RV park is not my idea of a place to stay however. Imagine putting up my coffin-sized 1 man tent in a space big enough to park a double-decker bus surrounded by enormous trailers. Or just lying on a mat, on the ground (as I am now), whilst armies old folks too and fro in their city cars and SUVs. No, it doesn't seem right some how.
Tonight I slipped off the road onto a rare 4WD track signed as a public road, it was gated but you are allowed to go in. 1/2 a mile down this it was easy to walk off into the scrub cover. There's too much tinder dry wood out here to responsibly consider a fire, I can make do with my tiny gas stove.
A sign on the dirt track warned, “open ranch. watch out for cattle.” I suspect the wild cattle on a big ranch like this may not be quite like the big eyed docile milkers one might encounter back home. I do hope they don't find me in the night an tale exception to my presence. To be trampled in my sleep would be most unsatisfactory.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment