Occupation of Independence

I had been warned in advance of how unpleasant it can be to go to a dog rescue organization. Foolishly or not, I went ahead with it and found one little dog that interested me. What a shock it was to get email from them, dismissing me as an unsuitable adopter of one of their highly valuable dogs (typically a pit-bull or chihuahua mix which usually comes -- at no extra charge -- with separation anxiety, a missing leg or eyeball, and uncertain bathroom habits). According to these experts I was unsuitable because I didn't have a fenced backyard of a certain size, and because I didn't reside in Arizona for six months per year. Now, it is probably true that people become more humble about themselves, over the years. But until that email I had persisted in the conceit that I was capable of raising happy dogs. An RVer's first dog, miserable as ever.  But I was wrong. What is my opinion compared to the experts, to The Science? They probably didn't think an RVer could ensure ade

Old machinery can certainly be charming, perhaps because you can see how it works just by looking at it. Locally there is an old drag-behind road grader. I was on a mountain bike at the time, so an irresistible thought popped up: what if Arizona passed a new law that required every motor-crazed yahoo (motosports, RZRs, etc.) to pull one of these graders behind their noisy obnoxious machine?! What a fantasy! At this time of year t he roads are so full of rubble or washboard that it is a real struggle on the bike. All I can do is look forward to my spring locations that feature miraculous soil and grasslands. But that's just silly, you say: it's idle fancy.  Well listen, I have a higher opinion of idle fancy than I used to. When I look at the world, I feel sour on a good day, angry on a bad day, and helpless on all days. So it is a sanity and survival tool to create mental playgrounds out of pleasant and harmless thoughts. Speaking of such, look at my camping-neighbor's rock

Sometimes I regret spending so little time near a coast. It is easy to say that, but in fact I don't care for extremely damp air, unless it happens to be in the desert, as is true this morning. The air felt freakish and delightful. What other conditions in different environments would have the same effect that today's damp desert air was having on me? I tried hard but couldn't think of anything.  As I drove to town, looking for something to do on a misty day, I went by a man walking his yellow lab. How long would this mist have to persist before that lab found a water puddle to splash in? And yet the dog seemed inspired by the mere dampness of the air. What an optimist!    

At long last I finally had a chance to ride on a borrowed fat bike, with 4" wide tires. This was of interest because my 3" tires aren't wide enough to travel loose gravel dry washes (arroyos).  There were about five differences between the borrowed bike and my regular full-suspension mountain bike (with 3" tires). So I had to mentally screen out those differences, and try to focus on the fat tires themselves. The weight of the 4" tires did not seem like a big disadvantage.  You hear it often from reviewers that fat bikes make you feel like a 10-year-old kid again, since you have the freedom to go exploring. And it was true! Following trails, marked with brown carsonite signs, makes a person feel repressed. (That is not an advertisement for going anywhere and everywhere in the desert, and making ugly ruts.) Now I have to decide if three months per year in arroyo country justifies the expense and inconvenience of traveling with a second bicycle. There was a grou