On the road again

It's been a couple of days since we left Durango, but between here (Needles, CA) and there we were mostly at the South Rim of the Grand Canyon. Needless to say, there is no wifi at the Trailer Campground there (though there is a Chase bank, the New York Times, and pre-bagged Peet's coffee so it's not like it's total isolation). We decided to change our route a bit from the one we took out to Colorado, most notably eliminating Gallup, NM (sorry, Gallup - sleeping cheek-to-jowl at the USA RV Park ("run by veterans!"), and driving around aimlessly for 45 minutes in search of the Wal-Mart just wasn't awesome enough to warrant a return visit) and instead spending our first night at the Grand Canyon. During our Southwest road trip in the summer of 2006 we visited the North Rim, so we were excited to hit the more touristy side during the slow season.

We've experienced a couple of fun trailer discoveries since taking off 2 days ago:
1. Yes, the water in the toilet bowl can freeze (rendering the flap useless) if the tralier is left in sub-freezing temps for several nights running. But once you hook up and get the heat on, it'll melt away no problem.
2. Shurflo water pumps are garbage.

We were a little worried about the effects of sub-zero temps on our plumbing, but figured we had gotten lucky when we hooked up the water hose at the Grand Canyon, tested the flow by running the kitchen sink, and witnessed a steady stream of water emanate properly. Several seconds later, however, I noticed a cascade of water flowing out of the floor onto the dusty ground below and quickly cut the flow of water to the trailer. Josh may have the inclination to provide more details here, but what matters to me is that we were calm, patient, and thoughtful in our analysis - and realized in short order that the culprit is a small motorized water pump that lives under one of the banquette seats. We took it out, took it apart, inspected every screw and plastic diaphragm and, in spite of appearing to be entirely in working order, any water pressure to the device causes it to gush like crazy.

The upshot is that we are unable to take water in through the plumbing system, though we can use the drains no problem. This means that we are eating mostly off of disposable dishes, must wash any non-disposables with bottled water, have to brush teeth with aforementioned bottled water, and - most critically - cannot shower. And because we are staying in RV parks and not campgrounds, there are no public dish washing sinks or showers to speak of. EXCEPT here at the Desert View RV Park in Needles, which is one of the primary reasons we returned to this bucolic location. They have the nicest, cleanest RV park showers I've ever seen, so we rolled into Needles today with shampoo and soap at the ready. I showered this afternoon and will again tomorrow in order to bank some fresh-scentedness, as the next shower I'll take will be in my very own home Tuesday evening.

The drive Friday was relatively uneventful, save our shock at discovering that Bill Bryson has an effected pseudo-British accent, a la Madonna. We are listening to The Life and Times of the Thunderbolt Kid, which helps to pass the time but I think (as is the case with almost all audiobooks) that it would be better on paper.

Today's excitement was provided by historic Route 66, which we diverted onto at Kingman, AZ. A straighter shot from there to Needles than I-40, we figured it would provide a welcome respite from deadly flat and boring northwestern Arizona. Turning onto the narrow two-lane road, we wondered at the "No trucks longer than 40 feet in 13 miles" sign and again 13 miles later at the sign that read "No trucks longer than 40 feet beyond this point." Almost immediately it became painfully clear why: for 9 miles the road hugs the side of a mountain while it twists around like a rattlesnake, all the while climbing 3,500 feet. Luckily there was no one behind us and we encountered only a few rental cars and motorcycles traveling in the opposite direction. And the scenery was breathtaking (of course we took no photos). Someday we will return to the Oatman Highway without the trailer and with cameras at the ready.

(Here I attempt to shoot a fantastic car wreck through Josh's window,
but don't think I managed to get enough of the heap of steel.)

The namesake of the road, the town of Oatman, was a total surprise: a old mining ghost town that has been turned into a cheezy tourist trap for people looking from a respite from gambling in nearby Laughlin - it was packed with rental cars and folks wandering in the streets as if it were really 1849 and there were no cars, aimlessly feeding carrots to the docile wild burros and looking for a spot to dress up and take and old-timey sepia-toned photo.