A lingering neck injury on my part has kept me off the bicycle. Well that’s not entirely true. I’ve been getting back on the bike a bit, telling myself I’ll take it easy on the smooth trails and not overdue it. But that gets boring. Maybe boring isn’t the right word. But it quickly becomes apparent that the gentle ride is not as exciting as say the stray trail, likely a horse trail, that forks off to the side and towards sights yet unseen. I give in of course and the ride gets a lot more fun. A half mile down a dry creek bed and I find myself in a steep canyon with rock carved smooth rising 10 meters above. Now this is more like it! And then two hours later back in the trailer I find myself wincing in pain every time I look to the right. That was the case at our stop outside Flagstaff. And that is the reason we have been seeking out bodies of water to camp on or near, for the next while, which starting with Bartlett Reservoir. Watersports. Kayaking has provided a great low impact form of exploration and adventure, especially now when biking is on the back burner for a bit. The problem though, is we are in the desert.
After moving on from Bartlett we set sights on Theodore Roosevelt Reservoir. It was a bit of a bust. Not in the sense that it wasn’t a beautiful location. The “bust” was on us. Recall a time you were going out for dinner or drinks. You walk up to the door of a place that has your attention from either curb appeal, reviews, or a peer recommendation. You barely get far enough inside to see the place. You don’t give yourself a chance to get to know the place. You just “nah”, lets go somewhere else. Well that’s what Roosevelt was. And I regret it, now, 4 days later and 400 miles away.
After leaving we decided to go to Yuma. The winter capital of 55+ Canadians. I’ve never heard it called that and just made it up, so please quote me on it even if it’s wrong. Before Yuma, we did stop overnight at Painted Rocks Petroglyph Site, outside Gila Bend. They should change the sign to read “The Site Where Painted Rock Petroglyphs Used To Be”. A crumbed pile of rock surrounded with signs erected far to late that read “stay off rocks” is what stood just next to our campsite. Unfortunately, there wasn’t much left to see. We still spent two nights there, roasting ourselves in the hot sun. We hoped to blend in when we got to Yuma.
Yuma is a unique place. I’d be curious too see the numbers, but I have a feeling there are more RV park lots here than houses. And likely less people here that call Yuma home than those that do not. Some of the RV parks were the size of small towns. With the amenities to boot. Tennis courts (as in 3-4), swimming pools that put big city pools to shame, bars, restaurants, even golf courses littered these places. Resembling all inclusive resorts, but where you bring your own condo, these were the exact opposite of what we seek. In search of an intimacy with nature, we headed to the brewery in Yuma, Prison Hill Brewing Co., to lubricate our decision making. Jake and Rubix kept guard in the trailer, however Gus was forced against his will to socialize, joining us on one of their pet friendly patios. Gus is great stranger bait. With little effort on our part, when he’s around people just want to come say hi, first for his story, then ours. When we’re lucky they share a bit of theirs as well. Being on a strict budget doesn’t allow for much indulgence when it comes to food. Once in a while though, something is spotted on a menu that must be tried. We usually reserve these splurges for something we’ve never seen before. Beer battered deep fried avocado. That was the splurge at Prison Hill Brewery. And damn was it good! After filling up our growlers we were on our way.
Since leaving Roosevelt Reservoir we hadn’t seen water. We even crossed the Gila River, which had no water in it. Arizona is desert in the most absolute sense of the word. It is dry as can be. Without break. Our sites were set on the Lower Colorado River. A series of dams just north of Yuma have created a slew of small lakes interconnected along the river before it crosses the border and empties into the Gulf of California, or Sea of Cortez. Not far from Yuma, on the California side of the river, we snaked through miles of perfectly manicured fields of leafy greens including lettuce, kale, and the occasional date tree plantation. This was such stark contrast to the bleak desert that surrounds. Man made irrigation waterways lined the fields in perfect symmetry. And then, just like that, we were out of it. Back to lifeless hills of brown and beige. But that wouldn’t last. The source of all things green came into sight. And looked so out of place. Lakes that look like spilled paint pooling and running out in every directing, surround by thick green reeds, grasses, and more date trees, came seemingly out of nowhere. Scattered RVs in no designated stalls, perched under hills, behind bushes, and just about anywhere else they could find in the sun littered the surroundings. But not in such a way to intrude on the beauty. Solar panels lay out in front of many, and fixed to the roof of many more, these RV’s were boondockers. Like us, they are not confined to pad with a post with a number on it where you can get mail. What a difference from the gridwork stacks of Lego back in the RV parks in town!