Camping at Dusk on a Narrow Road

San Lorenzo, New Mexico. And to think that a reader/commenter thought that I was a coward for avoiding hiking, biking, or traveling near sunset! It has always been a good policy. But sometimes a camper has to push the envelope a little. I'm not advertising recklessness. But there's such a thing as going into the Unknown simply because you must. Although risks are unavoidable, they are not being pursued for the sake of themselves. It builds character to get yourself in a bit of trouble, fight to stay calm, and work your way out of the hole by solving one problem at a time. But even more fundamental than that is backing off before it's too late.

In general the Benchmark state atlas shows RV-friendly dirt roads as heavy dashed red lines, and they have names. In general there is a big turnaround once you get into a national forest; big enough for pickup trucks pulling horse trailers, or for firefighting trucks. My Ford Econoline van and 7 foot wide X 21 foot long trailer turn around better than those other vehicles.

Armed with those excuses I decided to push through the 7 miles of dirt road before hitting the national forest. It was dusk now. The road wasn't steep or rough, but it was narrow. I dreaded another vehicle coming the opposite way. And if it got dark, could I get camped without backing into a tree or boulder?

If only the terrain would open up, with wide pull-offs along the road! Anyone pulling a trailer -- even a small one -- should feel claustrophobic about getting trapped in a canyon. In a worst case scenario, I would simply pull over to the side of the dirt road and "camp" for the night. But the dirt road kept getting narrower and narrower, and dusk got darker.

Finally I started to feel the survival instinct of the Experienced: don't make things worse! Stop while there is still time! So I parked on a flat spot right in the middle of the road, grabbed the four D cell Maglite flashlight, and walked the last half mile to the national forest gate. As always, dogs love moments like this. They get so charged up. They perceive no risk -- just fun.

And there it was! The canonical turnaround at the cattle gate. Beyond that, the road went up a ridge that might offer line-of-sight to the Verizon tower that was 5 miles to our west. Mountains, not so good; canyons, very bad; ridges and mesas, good.

I was terribly relieved, and walked back to the rig to bring it up to the turnaround. By now the flashlight needed to be turned on. Then a weird mechanical sound make me jump a foot off the ground! Geesh, that was only the second rattlesnake that ever rattled at me in all these years. There's nothing subtle about that warning. He was lying out in the middle of the dirt road, soaking up the warmth left over from a hot day. Thank goodness Coffee Girl was on a short leash. The gods just won't let a guy gloat at all, before smiting or at least humbling him.

We finally got camped with no more excitement. This is an example of how Comfort and the spoon-feeding of information to campers are not what make RV camping fun and rewarding. This blog will remain silent on geographical details such as specific roads and locations.

The next morning I found boondocker heaven, further up the road: spacious, no people, no rangers, 6700 feet of altitude, and 3 bars out of 4 of Verizon internet signal. I love ridges!

On a mountain bike ride up the canyon, I smiled when the ponderosa pines started at 7000 feet. It was cool and dark along the creek bottom. I found some old mining buildings:

It was a surprise to find a real residence out there  -- the only one on the whole road. The gate was locked and a warning sign made it clear that the hermit/troll was not looking for company. Where is the Kodger Incorrigible when you need him? I wonder if he would have enough guts to ring the "doorbell" just outside the hostile gate -- clang, clang, clang! -- and get the "story" from whatever weirdo lives here.

What sort of guy lives out here all by himself? An urban drop-out? An old hippie or Greenie? My reluctance to bang the bell was due to the fear that his entire mental life consists of listening to talk radio or preachers on AM radio.