No Mas

    

Home Again,  Home Again, Jiggity Jig!

 

After extensive discussion, we decided that we would not stay in San Carlos until May 1^st .  After 2 months of living aboard No Mas, we knew that we would like to spend more living aboard but with standing headroom, an enclosed head & a galley with at least 2 burners.  No Mas is a remarkable boat & we love her but she was never meant to be a liveaboard to begin with.

 

It was also beginning to get really hot & Sanctasantissima, Most Holy Day, or Easter was upon us.  San Carlos with its beaches is a magnet for thousands of Mexicans who pour into this small town for Easter week.  The parking lot of the marina had been cordoned off as well as the shower/bathrooms.  The marina office was to close from Thursday through Easter Sunday; many businesses in the town also closed.  Easter is the ultimate fiesta in Mexico & people party hardy.  Mexico is a Catholic country so it seemed contradictory that natives don’t observe Easter in the traditional reverent fashion.  Things were also beginning to heat up with  music well into the wee hours of the morning.  I remember lying in the forepeak listening to the beat of a particular piece of music:  One two three, One two three, One two three, ONE; One two three, One two three, One two three, ONE…ad infinitum.

We made arrangements to have the boat lifted out of the water on Tuesday, April 3^rd.  We had thought to unstep her mast after she had been lifted out but upon further reflection, we unstepped her mast on the water on Monday.  We picked up Chica from the vet’s Monday evening, picked up the trailer from dry storage early Tuesday morning, lifted out No Mas at 9 a.m. & were on our way at 10:30 a.m. after making doubly certain that she was secure in her trailer cradle & that everything was tied down to a fare the well.  Anyone who knows Rich would not be surprised at how many times he walked around the boat, trailer & van, trying to anticipate what might come loose & tightening & tightening yet again.

Our two travel concerns were Benjamin Hill & U.S. Customs:

Benjamin Hill is infamous for its military checkpoint which on occasion backs up truck traffic for 15 miles or so.  We did not look forward to being in this kind of traffic jam on a hot day towing a heavy boat & trailer & the possibility of Brunhilda (the ValkyrieVan) getting huffy & overheating.  We didn’t turn on the A/C in an attempt to treat her more kindly.  As luck would have it, because we were a passenger vehicle, we were waved through in the right lane.  The lengthy line of motionless trucks looked at us enviously but stoically (what else could they do?) as we drove past them.

We also didn’t know what kind of or how long the delay might be getting through U.S. Customs.  We had our Important Papers file out; our passports, dog immunization records, boat, trailer and van registration, Mexico & U.S. insurance EOI’s covered the dashboard & console & slipped & slid off my lap onto the floor, between the door & the seat – we had Important Papers everywhere.  I frantically tried to keep tabs on everything so it wouldn’t also fly out the window (See A/C note above).  I even had the receipts for the allowable liquor we were bringing in:  3 bottles of tequila & 1 of orange liqueuer ( one can bring in 2 litres of liquor per person).  We got to the border at 5 p.m.  There was a huge traffic jam of people going up to and down from the States.  We sweated, crawled, inched, squinched, crept forward.

Finally it was our turn.  The Customs agent asked us if we had any fruit or vegetables:  Yes.  Did we have any meats or cheeses:  Yes.  He investigated everything we had told him we had then after careful consideration decided that the packaged ham was forbidden & confiscated it.  Rich whispered darkly that the agent had probably forgotten his sandwiches & our ham was destined to be his dinner that night.   The agent asked us to get out of the van with Chica & Duke, leave the doors open & walk across the parking lot while he entered.  He came out of the van faster than he went in:  We had stuff everywhere.  He had that “Get-these-people-out-of-here-ASAP” look on his face; I can’t fault him for that…

We weren’t asked for our passports, for the dogs’ immunization records, nothing.  (We had really stressed about the trailer sticker expiring while we were gone, wondering how much trouble we’d have over this at the border coming back.  Kent Nordenberg bailed us out by getting the renewal sticker & FedEx’ing it to us at the marina.) Perhaps they thought that only Americans are nuts enough to live out of a tiny boat & a van with 2 dogs so decided to be merciful & passed us through.   We were ever so grateful.  We were on our way again about 6 p.m.

As a matter of fact, we were almost to Mountainview RV Park (just north of Nogales where we had camped on the way down) with its welcoming banner “Home of the Bewildered” emblazoned above the office door before we realized we had made it through Benjamin Hill AND U.S. Customs absent the huge problems we had anticipated with such apprehension.

We walked Chica & Duke then secured them to the van & sat there in the lovely soft Arizona twilight watching the sun go down & munching cheese & crackers, sliced cucumbers & tomatoes & The Last Avocado.  It was deliciously cool as the sunset flamed across the sky & the sun slipped below the horizon.

I’m not certain how much precipitation San Carlos received while we were there but it was only a spit of rain, and a small one, at that.  Despite that lack, Spring makes the desert simply burst into bloom.  I don’t know what resources the vegetation has to be able to celebrate Spring in such a profligate fashion.  New green leaves decorated every tree; some bushy trees were covered with yellow & red blossoms; a whip-like plant that shot its arms 15 feet or so into the air exploded with scarlet flowers on its ends.  Desert landscape is dramatic but its colors are normally so subtle.  There is nothing subtle about Spring in the desert – the Life Force is indomitable & will not be denied.

The next morning, Wednesday, found us on our way again at 6:30 a.m.  We got through Tucson before rush hour but I missed the Maricopa turn-off for the loop around Phoenix & we found ourselves in typical Big City Construction Season Traffic with lanes that compressed & expanded, trucks, buses & cars darting & swooping in & out, delays, backups, complete stops – it gave us abundant time to carefully examine Arizona highway overpasses.  Seriously, the concrete work is riveting:  The designs worked into & on the concrete are very specific to the area & culture.  Someone gave a great deal of thought to the motif & its implementation; they're not just your ordinary concrete highway overpasses & abutments.

Brunhilda chugged mightily up the grades we had forgotten we had come down.  Her fan went on with enough frequency to worry us.  She was letting us know that she just wasn’t enjoying the heat or the grades or the heavy trailer/boat we were asking her to pull.  But she, & we, prevailed, although those were some tough upgrades.

That’s one of the reasons (the other obvious reason was the nerve-wracking Phoenix traffic through which I’d directed us) that when we reached Mund’s Park, about 15 miles south of Flagstaff, Rich pulled off the road at 2:30 p.m. & declared we were staying at Mund’s Park RV Campground for the night.  He didn’t care what the cost, he wasn’t driving another foot.  It was a good call.  The elevation was about 6,700’ so it was cool even in the sun.  We took Chica & Duke for a couple long walks.  It was a tonic for all of us.

We aimed Brunhilda orth again, toward Flagstaff, about 6:30 a.m. Thursday morning.  We decided that no matter what it took, even driving at night, we were going to get home.  Suddenly Rich struck his forehead with the heel of his hand & exclaimed, “Omigod, do you know what weekend this is?” 

I looked at him as if he had taken leave of his senses.  “Of course,” I replied, “it’s Easter.” 

“No, no, NO!” he shouted.  “Don’t you remember?”

“Remember what?” I asked blankly. 

“What happens every Easter?” 

“The Easter Bunny…?”

“Nope.” 

Suddenly I did remember…the biggest baddest most gi-normous 4x4 rally in the world:  The Moab Jeep Rally!  It’s always on Easter weekend – there are jeeps, trailers, RV’s, people, dust everywhere.  I immediately brightened up.  “Well, then I’m certain of a large DQ Pecan Cluster Blizzard”.  This news flash didn’t cheer Rich to any appreciable degree; it only meant that he would have to find a spot in this seething mass of humanity & 4x4’s & park while his wife (me) got her ice cream fix.  Now the fact that I ALWAYS also get him a large malted milk shake didn’t cut his gloom one whit.  But I was unshakeable; I had had one measly little ice cream bar in the entire time we’d been away & I WOULD HAVE MY DQ!

Alas, the DQ in Moab had closed!  How could this be?  No DQ in Moab?  What was the world coming to?  Now I was Miss Gloom as I sat in the van with my arms grumpily crossed on my chest, muttering about the injustice of it all.  Rich, on the other hand, relieved of the prospect of parking, immediately cheered up.  Some things are just not fair!

We got home late Thursday.   Our neighbors, Laura & Bob Litschein, had generously agreed to watch the house & all was well. 

It is good to be home but bittersweet.  We loved being on the road, in the marina, at anchor.  We are looking forward to doing more of this, to being able to spend more time living aboard a boat.  We met wonderful people & hope we’ll be able to see them & San Carlos again.  If we can find a boat, we’d like to trailer her up to Lake Michigan this Summer & find a slip in Waukegan, Racine or Kenosha. 

There is much to look forward to.  There is much to be grateful for.  We are so very very fortunate. 

 

Hasta la vista, amigos!

 

Sara/Rich