The chaps at JJ's

No dancing on the bar in spurs !!

So if you find yourself South East of San Antonio ( of Alamo fame ) in Braunig Lake and you are looking for a place to " wet your whistle ", be warned. The first place you will be sent to ( doncha just love I-phones ? ) is called Flying Tigers, unless you have a fetish for t.v's, give this place a miss. Too many flat screens and not enough atmosphere.Don't lose hope, the next place is called J,J's. Its in a neighbourhood called Bergsmill, just one block south of Military Drive.
Don't let the drab fascade fool you.We pulled into the carpark and gave it the once over. " This'll do said Annette. Oh and it was SuperBowl Sunday so the place was very  busy.Walked in and got served straight away by the " one and only" Joe. He is the man that keeps the beers flowing.Looking around,the decor was nothing special but the atmosphere was welcoming.We decided to stay and have another beer.I needed the restroom and asked where it was " outback " , said Joe smiling. This is when the fun began.
I went " outback " and all the locals were out enjoying the sun and cooking food. The laughter and talk where flowing.I asked a guy the way to the toilet and he pointed me in the right direction.When I come out, the same fella asked me where I was from. Not in a hostile way but in a " where is that accent from ? " way.I told him Liverpool, England and that was it. Next minute I am being invited to eat chicken, pig and rabbit , all cooked outside by the chaps.The rabbit used to reside in the back until that afternoon.Now it was one of the main dishes of the afternoon.I might add that Maria made the Guacamole and it was " too die for " , better than any store bought stuff and a perfect accompaniment to the meats on offer.A few more beers and next minute the banter and laughter is getting louder.Loads of handshakes and hello's, but no names, I could have been back at home. This was like an evening in the infamous " Pepper's ". The Wolf was convinced I wasn't English and said he was waiting for me to " drop my accent ".Then Annette got invited outside to enjoy the food.
I went back inside to find I had already been bought a beer from someone I didn't know. Then Dora came over and said hello, she and her Husband were there for the SuperBowl.Thanks Dora for the cab number,as efficient as you said they would be. We were made to feel so welcome here. I could have been back in Liverpool.But with the added pleasure of fresh cooked food.
Perhaps its previous experiences but the chaps were still suspicious of me and wouldn't give me their names for this blog.The Wolf asked me if I was wearing a wire and never needing an excuse to take my clothes off in a bar , I put him at ease by showing him there was no wire.Then I suggested we take a group picture for the blog. That suggestion was about as welcome as a fart in a spacesuit.So I carried on drinking the cold ones and eating the great food. Once again big thanks to Maria who made the mean gaucamole that accompanied the meat.
One of the guys said he pulled in behind us in the car park , when  we arrived and wondered if we were lost. He was surprised when we stayed to drink.You can't beat a good bar and when you are greeted with a sign that declares " no dancing on the tables in spurs " , you know you are in for a good time.As in Willcox, the folks here were proud of their neighbourhood and told us all about its history. We couldn't have got a better welcome.The beer, laughter and banter flowed.So if you find yourself in the area,check this bar out.With luck, there may be some cooking going on out the back. Joe will show you the way.Just don't wear a wire cos it might get embarrassing when the hugs start.
Much thanks to everyone who made our afternoon such a good time.
Thanks to the Wolfman and " Tommy " for sharing a smoke with me, you had to be there.

GERONIMO!!!!!!!

Geronimo!!!!!

Heading east on I-10 we saw the billboard, wine tasting in Willcox! Not being ones to want to pass up the opportunity for grape fuel, we stopped. Willcox, Arizona is where Geronimo and Cochise had it off with the settlers and the cavalry. It also happens to be home to two good bars, a great little RV park,  awesome pies, and some really nice people.

This is a small town hit hard by the economy and the decision by some heartless bastards to move the freeway outside of the town. We pulled up to the Fort Willcox RV park with the intention of spending one night and going on the wine tasting tour. We figured it would be $7 well spent! We “ homesteaded” and headed to town to check things out.

The part of town we were in was furthest from the new freeway, but also housed the Historic Old Town from the days when the railroad was the life blood of the town. A stop by the Rex Allen Museum fueled our first love for this town. The Arizona Cowboy was born here, and this town loves him! We tried to go to the very first store in Arizona, The Co-op Mercantile. Sadly it was closed. No bother, we headed to the Palace Saloon, a saloon that had been open and in the same building since 1903. Closed. Well, off to the wine tasting tour next door; only opened on Thursday – Sunday. These were all in Historic Old Town! We were saddened by this, but managed to find Rix’s Bar to drown our sorrows. 

A couple of beers at Rix’s hit the spot, and the bartender told us to come back later and you can cook your own steak on the grill in the restaurant section in the back. Since we had our dinner plans already in the Flying Pig, we didn’t make it back. On the way back to the homestead, we saw it. Cattle Rest Bar. A nice walking distance from our home at .7 miles, so we gave it a tip of the hat and a wink as we passed by, promising to return.

Back at Fort Wilcox RV Park, Barbara, the owner, made sure that we knew that she had homemade pies to sell and free coffee and waffles in the morning. Himself couldn’t resist the thought of a rhubarb pie like mom used to make on a Sunday, so we bought one. We asked what a Shoofly Pie was, and although it wasn’t in the current selection of available pies, Barbara told us it was a crumble pie made with molasses.  Himself  gave her the big puppy dog eyes, and it was quickly on the schedule of pies available for the following day.

The following morning involved the decision to stay another night in order to see the area attractions, and to keep our promise to the Cattle Rest Bar. We headed west again in the teeny tiny car to visit the Amerind Foundation’s museum of American Indian artifacts and the Thing! Museum, both of them well worth a visit. We also found out that Wyatt Earp’s brother Warren was shot in Willcox by the local sheriff. That afternoon, we walked down to the Cattle Rest, and here we met Miss Red, her brother Robert, son Tim, Gloria, and Pete, all being entertained and served as only a good bartender can by Sue and Jeannie.  

Miss Red had lived in Willcox many of her 81 years, and Robert and Tim were visiting her. Miss Red moved closer to the others when we came in to give us room at the bar. We bought her a drink for this, which started a downhill spiral of drink buying with all of us. Although everyone “needed to go soon”,  we all continually had a drink token in front of our glass that no one was willing to leave behind! We also met La and Diana who had just finished a Tai-Chi class, and Millie who was a care giver and had just had a shit day, thus an after work beer. La was from Willcox originally and had lived or visited places all over the world, but in her words, “something always draws me back here.”

Needless to say we had a great time with everyone. Each had a passion for Willcox that was contagious. Robert was an RVer himself, and gave us lots of good information regarding our route to Houston, from RV Parks to great Mexican food. Miss Red is a legend, a real beauty whose flaming red hair in her youth had earned her the name.

Our one night in Willcox for a wine tasting tour turned into three nights, with no wine but a greater appreciation for small town America. If the rest of America promoted this country the way that the Willcox residents promoted their small town and showed the passion that they all did, from the museum manager to Miss Red, all of our problems would be over. We left with a tip of the hat, a wink, and a promise to return.

 

"Her" speaks up......

You are how old?????

While at Cattail Cove State Park, a lovely couple named Dick and Carol walked  their pooch, Patch, past our camp and made the mistake of a wave and commenting on the weather. They have been stuck with us ever since! Dick invited us to go for something to eat and Happy Hour the next day in Havasu at a sports bar. Despite their home team playing in the Superbowl playoffs on the TV, the conversation flowed and we had a great time.  The next day we said our goodbyes as they headed to Phoenix and we headed to Quartzsite.

The chain of events that followed involved our generator breaking down, another 6 days at Cattail Cove while the generator went to a shop, and then being told that we would need to go to Phoenix or LA to get it fixed. So after a short few days at Quartzsite for the RV Show we headed to Phoenix. We called Dick and Carol and let them know that we would be in Phoenix after all, so Happy Hour was in order again!

After a couple of days at “Camp Cummins”, I began looking for an RV park near the golf resort that Dick and Carol were staying at, as their resort had a 55 years old or older requirement. Everyplace I looked at in the area had the same requirement! Here we were, being discriminated against for being too young! I couldn’t find a park any closer than 20 miles to them, so I called Dick and told him that we may have to continue on. He stated he would go to the office and see if he could get us a spot for two nights in their resort. After a few minutes, Dick called back, and we were in. He told us that he had mentioned several times my recent “retirement” and that we were looking at the resort as a place to possibly stay in the future. Seems he forgot to mention our age as he got the approval, and oh, since there is a requirement that your rig can’t be any older than 10 years, I may need to say that our bus is a 2003 rather than a 1999 model. His further suggestion was to leave Mr. E in the rig while I registered and tell them the “old man” is in the rig, although I am just a spring chicken. Now, I am the worst liar in the world anyway, so I was terrified calling the office to pre-register. That went smoothly, and she didn’t ask about our age but I did have to fudge a little on the year of the Flying Pig.

NOW I was really worried! I started rummaging through the closets looking for hats and anything else that would make us look older. I had me in a baseball cap and my readers on, Mr. E in his cowboy hat and his readers, me with sunglasses or off? Mr. E with his orange leather beret from Burning Man with sunglasses (well okay, his welding glasses, since those are the only “sunglasses” he brought!). I was a wreck, but off we went. We pulled up to the gate (gated retirement community, you see) and I was as nervous as a whore in church! The old boys at the gate didn’t bat an eye as they checked our reservation and led us to our spot in a golf cart marked “security”, (golf carts were the vehicle of choice here, and they were decked out!). I drove the bus in and Mr. E was behind me in the teeny tiny car wearing a cowboy hat and readers. I was sure that EVERYONE was looking at us wondering how we got in. We looked young and the Fly Pig looked old, and that was ass backward!

Well, we were in anyway and spent a fun couple of days with Dick and Carol. One of the neighbors said to Dick, “she doesn’t look 55!” to which Dick replied, “yeah, they look really young. They work out a lot!”. We taught Dick and Carol how to play Farkle, ate pizza and drank beer. Patch promptly moved in on Ginge's fluffy bed, chanting "oh, the scent of a woman!"  while he break danced on it. It is funny, because I am the same age as Carol’s daughter, and Carol is the same age as my mother. Dick is certain that I may even share some DNA with their daughter, apparently she is as crazy and animated as I am. Once again, good byes were said after Dick helped us plan out our route to Texas. By the time we get back from Mexico they will be in New Orleans, and want us to join them there. It is about 350 miles from Houston, so we are considering it. As Dick said, “and it will be 350 more laughs!”. One thing we are finding is that making good friends along the road is the easiest part!

 

lets play some stuff

“Let’s play some stuff ‘

We got to Quartzite and found ourselves a camp site in La Posa South, a huge B.L.M campground, just 2 miles outside of town. To say there was over half a million (reported) people camped around the town the place did not look crowded. We got our camp set up and as is our custom, we flew the flag of St George on a pole on the back of our bus. I was throwing the ball for Ginger when one of our neighbors came over to say hello. She had seen our flag and was under the impression we “worked “for the Red Cross. Jennie was from Jerome , Idaho and had been coming to Quartzite for over 20 years, “ ever since Ralph retired “.We were passing the time talking of this and that and her husband Ralph came to join the conversation.Ralph was 83 and a retired heavy equipment operator. I have to say I hope I look as good as this guy if I ever get passed 80. Both he and his wife looked fantastic for their ages. The talk turned to music as Ralph played guitar and his wife played fiddle, “she sings some, as well “added Ralph. I told Ralph I was learning guitar so he said let’s get together and play awhile. I warned him I only knew 6 chords and he said that’s all you need.

At two in the afternoon I wandered over to where they were camped, guitar in hand and songs I knew hastily scribbled on some paper (I haven’t mastered remembering chords or lyrics yet).We set up our chairs out of the wind and started to play. Ralph would tell me the chords and off he would go, playing and singing. The tunes were a mix of old country and honky tonk.I have to state, this was fun as fun could be. There is nothing better than to be sitting out in the sun, playing music, singing and listening to an old timer talk about days gone by. Then he asked if I knew any songs and did I want to sing. I had a mix of old Johnny Cash and Elvis. Simple 3 chord stuff that was idiot proof. I asked if Ralph if he wanted to see my music and he said no, “he would just join in as I played “.My embarrassment at being in the spotlight faded and I was soon singing away and managing to strum chords at the same time. Then Jenny came to join us. She brought her fiddle out and played along with us. She also sang. Jennie had an amazing voice. Although I must point out she apologized for it not being what it used to be. You could have fooled me.

Just then a guy came walking over and stood looking as we played. Perhaps it was my dulcet tones drew him in? Then he asks if he could borrow my guitar. I passed it over. Bang! I wish you could have been there to hear this guy play. His Incredible picking, playing along to Ralph’s rhythm had to be heard. I just sat there stunned, in admiration. After this fine display, he tells us his name, Chuck and says “if it’s ok with us, he is going to get his guitar and join us “.We agree to meet later on and do it again.

We got together the next afternoon .Chuck brought the rest of his camp. Bob and Mary, they supplied conversation and a new friendship was born. We proceeded to played into the evening. My fingers were killing me by the time we were done but so what. You don’t get opportunities to do this every day. At one point Jennie was singing and Chuck asked if he could “pick it “as she sang, “be my guest”, said Jennie. What followed was a delight for the ears. Chuck playing up and down the neck of his guitar, going off on tangents then coming back in to Ralph and my rhythm playing. At one stage Ralph was playing harmonica, Chuck was picking and I was left to keep the rhythm going. I almost felt like a real musician. The night saw us ad-libbing to house of the rising sun. Something about “don’t let your son grow up to be a plumber”,(You had to be there).Even Annette got in on the deal, singing her own version of Bob Segers “old time rock n roll “.

In the two days I played music with Ralph and Chuck I learned a lot. Not least of all to “practice, practice then practice some more “.I was sad we only had the two days. I would have liked to stay longer and get to know these men better. Sometimes, it’s the simple things, some strangers, a guitar or two, a fiddle and a voice. Throw in a campfire, a hot desert night and there you have it.

Ted the traveller

Ted the Traveller

Heading south out of Havasu City, about 20 miles beyond town, we come across a Mesa on the east side of the freeway that had a few R.V’s “ boondocking “ or dry camping. Dry camping is when you park up your motorhome out in the cuds where there are no facilities and rely on your own resources. We decided to pull off the freeway and stay for a few days. We found a fairly flat piece of ground and set up camp. The weather was perfect so we sat outside, with a cold beer and enjoyed the day. A black Honda saloon rolled by then pulled into our camp. The driver side window rolled down and this was our introduction to Ted.

Ted was about my age. He asked if we left Utah to escape the snow then asked if he could join us for a chat. “Please yourself mate “ , says I. He gets out the car and on his left leg below the knee is this clamp like / jig looking thing with bolts and pins and rotators on it. His leg looked like something out of Robocop. There were 2 pins laterally through his knee and then 3 pins were in a line going through his shin. The whole thing was then held together with bolts and swivels. He stands up straight and I ask “ what the funk happened there ? “. He looks down shrugs and says “Oh I got in a tumble with a car and the car won “.I asked him if he wanted a chair and he declined , hobbling round to the back of his car, he pulled out a chair and a beer. Then he hobbled over to us and sat down. Seems he had been crushed by a car a year ago and the clamp thing was the end result. I asked him when the “jig “would be taken off his leg, “ when I decide “, he said ,looking down at it. Then I realized Ted had been on the “sauce “ a bit longer than before the sun had set over the yard arm. He was well drunk innit ?

He starts getting real deep and philosophical. We talked about politics, religion, you name it , it was on the menu. I might add, at this point Mrs. Ellis retreated to the inner sanctum of the bus. She doesn’t suffer strangers lightly. Ted had left home at 16 and hopped on freight trains across America. There was a phrase he used to describe travelling on freight trains and when I asked him the next day, he couldn’t remember what it was. He told me of the people he had met along the way. Ted had got a job on the oilfields and never looked back. He had a gripe with how America was turning out. People were losing the ability to talk. Not communicate but talk.” Any fucker can send an e-mail or a text but ask him to talk to talk to someone, look that person in the eye,, different story “.”People ask how you are doing but they don’t really want to know how you are”. Talk about interesting, this fella had me enthralled. On meeting him for the first time and seeing him living in his car you would think he didn’t have a pot to piss in but that wasn’t the case. He had won a large settlement, which he was living off and had decided to go on the road and find the “real America “.

After about an hour we called it a day as Mrs. Ellis wanted to take the Ginge for a walk before it got too dark. Ted put his chair away and got in his car to park up and sleep. He then made the mistake of driving into the camp next to us. This camp consisted of some big R.v’s and 5^th wheels. They called the Police on Ted. The officer shows up and after talking to Ted drives off.

The next day Ted apologizes to us for any upset he caused us. I told him he didn’t have to apologies as he didn’t upset us. Seems he thought it was us that called him in. He didn’t even remember driving into the other camp. I was surprised as I didn’t think he was that drunk. Mrs Ellis went into “ officer mode “ and told him about being drunk while  driving and its all fun till he drives off the Mesa. The mad part was Ted didn’t recall our big discussion and he ended our chat with “ well sometimes when I am drunk ,I have been known to use big words and get ahead of myself “, then with a shrug and a “ you guys have a great day “ he was gone. Off to wherever else he thought he needed to be to find the America , that he was looking for.

Be safe Ted,,,,,,,and get that leg looked at.

The Adventure Begins

The Adventure Begins……

We started our adventure on Dec 1^st.

One thing I have learned, never pack for the summer when you are in Park City in the winter. Oh and also don’t pack when you are in a rush. These things become apparent further down the line. In an attempt to leave Park City before the next storm, all semblance of order went out of the window.

“Honey, where shall we put this? “, “in the trash! “.

“Honey, is this coming with us? “, “TRASH! “.

“Honey, what about? Yeah I know ,,,,trash “

My patience gland was running out of patience and I wanted to be on the road.

At this point if it didn’t make it into the Flying Pig ( known as The Pig from here on ) by now ,it never would. It is amazing how much stuff you simply can’t live without, can be gotten rid of when your existence breaks down to an 8’ x 34’ motorhome. We have our friend Kathy to thank for the coldness with which we got rid of all our possessions. She gave us a heads up on house clearing before we started. It is amazing how much shite one couple can squirrel away, on the understanding, “we might need it one day “.It is even easier to get rid of. Blink of an eye and it is gone. Either in the trash or away to a new home.

“We live in what we drive and we drive in what we live “

Getting rid of our possessions was the easy part, saying goodbye to our house was harder. This is the place we had laughed, cried, partied hard, made friends, worked on, partied harder and made our home, for the best part of eight years. And yet, in a flash, all the memories where boxed away, we locked the door and were gone. Then we got forgot the spare keys to the “ leetle,teeny,tiny “ car and had to go back. We were our renter’s first visitors. Oh the irony.

Then we were on the road. At some point, we had to join the car to the back of the bus for the purpose of towing. This is easier than it seems. In towing a car flat behind your motorhome it is always best to know what you are doing. The truck stop at the summit of Parleys Canyon is not a very good place to learn. Thank the stars for helpful customer service people, “Do you have an owner’s manual? It should tell you in that “, is the best advice we could get. Jumping in at the deep end we got it sorted and headed off down the Canyon. The stress level was very high at this point. But we were still alive and hadn’t harmed each other.

The reason for this all happening was a conversation Annette and I had had about what to do with the rest of our lives. We decided upon her retirement, after 23 years, to hit the road and see what it would throw at us. I wrapped up my plumbing business ( just as the construction started taking off again ) and here we are. No regrets and raring to go. Life on the road with all it has to offer.

To be honest, it has been a blast.  Just Her n me n Ginge making 3. Six weeks into the Adventure and we are still laughing. Being this close to each other, without the diversion of TV and the other trivia of life takes some getting used to. There is nowhere to hide, in the Pig.  When the air needs clearing it has to be done there and then. Bosh! And then it’s back to normal. Ginge has improved no end. I think that being in close environment with us has done her the world of good. She is a different dog to the one that lived in Park City. For those that don’t know, Ginge was abused as a pup and had a hard time after that, letting her guard down. Jumping at every sudden movement and shying away from contact was normal for her. Not anymore. It would appear, she loves the life on the road. This whole thing has been worth it just for that.

Fast forward to today. We find ourselves staying at a State Park in Arizona, just outside Havasu City because our generator decided it didn’t want to make electricity for us anymore. The parts will be here on Wednesday ( I am assured ) . Until then, we can go no further. When we dry camp, we rely on the generator to top up our batteries and provide power when we need it. This down time has brought about the start of this blog. I have Erik to thank for this. He went to the effort of getting all this started and all I have to do is the easy bit of “waffling”. We are going to try and do this blog once a week. Maybe throw some audio stuff in, as well.

So if you find yourself with nothing to do and time on your hands , check us out.

All names and places have been changed to protect the innocent.