Sonoran Desert Soul-Transit - 2009

 

Sonoran Desert Soul-Transit

On Monday, October 5, 2009, I awoke in Quartzsite, Arizona. By Noon, I was “on the road” toward Black Canyon City, AZ. Not wanting to pull my coach through Phoenix, AZ during rush hour, I avoided Interstate I-10. Instead, I “cut the corner” from Quartzsite to Black Canyon City on Highway U.S. 60, via Wickenburg.

 

If the reader is unfamiliar with the territory, U.S. 60 traverses a wide expanse of Sonoran desert. Along with occasional views of irrigated farm fields, one experiences such desert hotspots as Brenda, (named for an old girl friend), Hope (the eastbound and westbound departure signs both read, “You Are Now Beyond Hope”), Salome (Where she danced) and the lesser burgs of Harcuvar, Aguila and Gladden. After going beyond Hope, it was a relief to reach the cheerful sounding place named Gladden.

 

The previous day, the first cold front of the fall season had passed through the Arizona desert. Departing Quartzsite at midday, the temperature was only 63 f. degrees. Throughout the day, temperatures did not exceed 83 f. degrees. For me, a clear, temperate day in the Arizona desert is a rare treat.

 

As I motored along, the open landscape, clear blue sky and white clouds created a peaceful atmosphere. The desert transit allowed time for me to contemplate where I had been and where I was going in life. The old highway served as allegory to my lifelong transit.

 

How wonderful could a week’s vacation be? If you are like me, you spend the "week prior" preparing for the journey. You spend your vacation week living the vacation in real-time. Upon returning home, you spend the "week following" reliving your vacation. Using that formula, you get three weeks vacation for the price of one.

 

As I drove east, I realized that there were issues to address and challenges to overcome, but such is life. Beginning there in the desert, I concluded that I have no problems in my life. Inside me, something said, “Be on the lookout for anomalies in time. They are ready to escort you to your destiny. If you allow their help, you shall live your dreams sooner than you might otherwise imagine”.

 

Pushing our values on to another person no longer works. It is up to each individual to discover who he or she is. The final step in human ascension is to come to loving terms with self. For many humans, allowing self-love is not easy. The distractions of everyday life alone can separate us from our Source. Many of us live day-to-day, with a “here today and gone tomorrow” attitude. If we do not consciously connect with Mother Earth, our lives can become ephemeral, more dreamlike than visceral.

 

The way to achieve “grounding” is different for each person. If one offers, allows and accepts self-love, one instantly feels grounded. Whether its source is alternating or direct, the grounding of electricity through a wire is a one-way process. For all known living things, the Earth is our ground. Our personal electromagnetheric energy fields seek resolution there. The process is analogous to gravity forcing water to seek its own level. That all energy seeks resolution is universal law. As such, it is undeniable.

 

We no longer need opposing energies in our lives. When dualistic thinking is present, new energy travels to ground, disappearing before it can manifest. In human life, the best interactions are win-win. In the sport of fencing, each contestant might score a simultaneous touché to the other's heart. The result is grounding, from one to the other and out to the universe. Whenever two hearts touch, new energy manifests. As with any other grounding of energy, universal law applies. Put another way, "Thousands of candles may be lit from a single candle, and the life of the candle will not be shortened. Love never decreases by being shared." - Buddha ...

 

As the desert rolled under my truck, my thoughts drifted to Jimmy, the boy I was, over fifty years ago. During that period, my inner child had turned inward, longing for the unchanging security of home and family. Despite my early unrealistic expectations about home, family and security, in my fifties I became a nomad. For two years, I lived on my sailboat, WindSong, laying in Marina del Rey, CA. Later I alternated living quarters between WindSong and my travel trailer. From Catalina Island, CA, to the Four Corners region and throughout the Western U.S., I traveled. If nothing else, it proved to me that my core beliefs about home, and security could change.

 

As I observed the scenery that day, I realized that a desert transit is a uniquely human experience. In my imagination, my inner child sat next to me in the passenger seat. Before sharing our thoughts about the scenery around us, we turned and smiled at each Other. Aloud, I said, “Can you imagine doing what I do for a living, and making money too?”

 

The twin subjects of shortage and abundance had entered my mind. A conceptual path toward monetizing my life’s work eluded me. Taking a deep breath and letting it out, I realized that I did not need to know the details of my future funding sources. My contribution was to keep asking the universe for what I wanted, and then to align my energies with the receiving of what I had asked for.

 

A feeling of happiness and contentment washed over me. If ever there was a place where the universe listens to requests, it had to be the Sonoran desert. I spent that afternoon asking aloud for all of that which I desired. Looking as my inner child had imagined it so many years ago, the visual backdrop to my requests was the living desert.

 

In the late afternoon, I reached Black Canyon City, AZ. At the RV Park, I detached my coach, put on my running shorts and drove a mile to the High Desert Nature Park. After two year’s absence from the park, I ran a course made familiar during my two winters living in Black Canyon City. My running course included a desert-garden pathway, which loops around the seventy-five acre preserve. Other than drought, which blankets the Four Corners with its dust, little had changed in the park since I first visited there in March 2005. In defiance of drought, were the Saguaro cacti a bit bigger now?

 

At sunset, from atop that hill, I could feel cool Arctic air pushing south towards Mexico. I was happy to feel that Mother Nature's natural chiller still worked.

 

If our collective consciousness requests it, we may yet see glaciers return to the high country of our Rocky Mountains. Not so long ago, Glacier National Park, MT, had many active glaciers within its borders. If we request new glaciers, can group consciousness create them? Ultimately, the gloomy-doomers may win the day with their global warming scenarios, but I hereby request new glaciers.

 

That night, it was clear and cold in Black Canyon City. Later, I read that Grand Junction, CO had eclipsed by three degrees their low-temperature record for that date. In the Four Corners, autumn 2009 had started cold. Might it also be wet?

 

Events at our next stop, Navajo National Monument, AZ hinted at a possible answer to that question.

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By James McGillis at 03:46 PM | Travel | Comments (0) | Link

A Windy Day in the Desert Southwest - 2009

 

A Windy Day in the Desert Southwest

At 12:30 PM on the first Sunday in October, we departed Casa Carrie in Simi Valley, California, bound for Quartzsite, Arizona. Our overnight stay would be the Holiday Palms RV Park in Quartzsite. As always, the first day of a Four Corners tour is a bit stressful. What have I remembered to pack and what have I forgotten? As it turned out, I forgot the charger for my Bluetooth headset and… my engagement ring.

 

From Simi Valley through the San Fernando, the San Gabriel and the San Bernardino Valleys, I listened to LA News on 1070 AM. The Sheep Fire at Lytle Creek, in the San Bernardino National Forest had broken through its lines and then burned toward the mountain town of Wrightwood, east of Mt. Baldy. As I transited east on the 210 Foothill Freeway, I listened as if I were in the old days of radio. The paid firefighters and the prisoners-of-the-state camp crews cooperated to create firebreaks and to lay fire hose lines up impossibly steep grades of freshly bulldozed earth.

 

White Bear, the DC-10 air tanker made one run, laying fire retardant down on crucial terrain. The P-2 Neptune and the P-3 Orion, both built by Lockheed, Burbank in mid-century could not overcome the masking effects of the swirling wind. Within thirty minutes, fresh winds cleared the ridge-views for the tankers to drop their loads. The same cold front catapulted me east on Interstate I-10 toward Needles and Quartzsite. All of this took place with barely a touch of the accelerator pedal on my Titan truck. The billboard-shaped back of my pioneer travel trailer caught the wind and pushed me forward.

 

When at Casa Carrie, I can hole-up for days at a time, driving nowhere at all. Then, the next trip to the desert takes shape in my mind. Will it include Chaco Canyon, New Mexico, Durango, Colorado or Canyon De Chelly National Monument, Arizona, if not the North Rim of the Grand Canyon? That is the beauty of Indian Country. One need not adhere to any particular schedule or route. Here, one’s location is a state of mind.

 

In Blythe, California, I stopped for provisions at the Albertson’s supermarket. Luckily, we had prepared a chicken stew the night before my departure, so I did not have to rely on their heavy emphasis of deli fried foods. To my dismay, the organic wheatgrass that they stock year round was getting a little leggy. I bought a pint container anyway, wanting it as much for the small lawn I can create with it in my coach as for any nutritional value it might hold.

 

When I settled in at Quartzsite, my indoor/outdoor thermometer froze at 75 degrees, both inside and out. Several hours later, neither indicator has budged. If only I had a barometer and hygrometer, I could determine if all atmospheric activity had actually stopped.

 

Quartzsite is 279 miles from Simi Valley. Arriving here with everything I need to survive indefinitely, except for my engagement ring, feels like an achievement. Now that I am on the road, it all gets easier. If I forgot to pack something, I can stop at Wal-Mart and buy it. That type of activity is what keeps the American economy “moving”, if indeed economies move at all.

 

On Friday, October 9, Carrie will fly from LAX to Grand Junction, Colorado. That day, I will drive from Moab, Utah on U.S. Highway 191 North and Interstate I-70 East to “Junction”. At the appointed hour, I will reunite with both Carrie and my engagement ring.

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By James McGillis at 11:48 PM | Travel | Comments (0) | Link

 

The Four Corners States - Fall Tour 2009

On October 4, 2009, we depart for a two-week RV tour of the Four Corners. Our first stop will be Quartzsite, Arizona. After business in Phoenix, Arizona the following day, we will take one night in Black Canyon City, Arizona. From there, we go north via Interstate I-17, through Flagstaff, and then on to Sunset Campground at Navajo National Monument, Arizona. There we shall partake of the best free camping in the Four Corners. We hope to arrive at the campground early enough to view one of its universally famous sunsets.

We arrive in Moab, Utah on October 7, departing there on October 11, 2009. With friends old and new, we shall experience Moab and its redrock neighborhoods. After covering the exciting conclusion of the “24 Hours of Moab” off-road bicycle race, we will head south and west, back toward LA.

The following two nights we'll be at the North Rim of the Grand Canyon. With “The National Parks” film showing on PBS this past week, we cannot resist returning to the one place that President Theodore Roosevelt said, "Every American should see". Intellectually, we know that the Grand Canyon is just a big hole in the ground, but this will be our fifth pilgrimage to the mother of all National Parks. If she accepts us into her earthly folds, we shall be pleased.

The North Rim of the Grand Canyon sits about as far away from a major city as you can get by paved road in the U.S. From the nearby towns of Page, Arizona and Kanab, Utah, very light pollution obscures the North Rim sky. With a population of less than 100,000, Flagstaff, Arizona, over 75 miles away likewise has only minimal visual effect on the night sky. On nearly moonless nights we shall visit the fabled North Rim. Above, we shall see the Milky Way and a million stars. This time we have packed our four-inch reflector telescope. With its ability to concentrate light from distant objects, we hope to see deep into the night sky.

After the first significant snowfall at the North Rim, Park Rangers close the area to new entrants, other than those with winter hiking or cross-country skiing permits.  Any guests lucky enough to experience a full blanket of snow at the North Rim are encouraged to leave as soon as the road is cleared for travel. The park and lodge staff stay to shut down their facilities, but until the following spring we leave the park to nature. With luck, we shall see no significant snowfall at the North Rim before our arrival. Even so, we must pack shorts and t-shirts for Phoenix and winter coats for both Navajo National Monument and an 8,000 foot elevation at the North Rim.

In the 1960s, upon attaining our first view over and down the South Rim of the Grand Canyon, we said aloud, "That's it." Then, a few moments later we asked no one in particular except the God we had forsaken, “That's it?" Each time we return to the Grand Canyon, we recall those words and that God. In anticipation of seeing the Grand Canyon again soon, we cannot imagine saying anything other than, “That’s it”. Then, a few moments later, we expect to hear, “That’s it?” Whose voice will that be? Ours or the Other?

After two nights at the North Rim Campground, we will hook up and head for home. After descending the Kaibab Plateau, we will pick up Interstate 15 South, near St. George, Utah. Our final night on the road will be at Mesquite, Nevada, ninety miles north of Las Vegas. On our final day, we have 379 highway miles to cover, arriving home on the evening of October 17.

While we are on the road, please join us for updates, here at JamesMcGillis.com.

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By James McGillis at 11:47 AM | Travel | Comments (0) | Link

Winter Camping in the Deserts of Arizona and California - 2009

 

Winter Camping in the Deserts of Arizona and California

On February 9, 2009, I hooked up my rig and pulled to Quartzsite, AZ, where I would spend the night, prior to a midday appointment in Phoenix, Arizona the next day.  Being two thirds of the way to Phoenix from Simi Valley, CA, makes it a good stopping point on Interstate 10.  As always, I stayed at the bucolic, but efficient Holiday Palms RV Park.  With a reservation guaranteed for late arrival, Quartzsite represented my safe harbor for the night.

 

Although economic realities had diminished the snowbird RV-exodus to the Arizona desert this winter, the town was still alive.  Row upon row of large RV’s lay unwanted and unloved at the temporary dealership lots set up for a crowd that never arrived.  If Quartzsite were not on the interstate, it would have rolled up and blown away this winter.  Still, a quiet night’s sleep in the desert is always a good thing and I enjoyed my brief time there.

 

In the morning, I unhooked the utilities from my Pioneer travel trailer, raised the leveling jacks and drove toward Phoenix under a clear desert sky.  The clear, cold air outside was in stark contrast to my experiences the day and evening before.

 

As I left LA, that Monday morning, it was rainy and dark.  Across the LA Basin and until I reached the top of the Banning Pass, it rained.  Then, as if the rain had not yet earned its place in the low desert of California, not a sprinkle fell during my transit to Quartzsite.

 

Once I was in Phoenix, I needed to find my doctor's office in Scottsdale.  With help from my Magellan GPS, I arrived there rested and with time to take a few deep breaths before proceeding.

 

During my tour of the Phoenix freeway system, I noticed large roadside pools of water where I had not seen water before.  At the doctor’s office, water stood in pools throughout the landscaping and along the walkways.  When I commented to the office manager, she indicated that a storm had released drenching rain in Phoenix overnight.  It seems that the storm that I watched disappear in the low desert had rematerialized in Phoenix.

 

Leaving Phoenix on Tuesday afternoon, I traveled northwest on US Highway 93.  Other than one westward jog, where it shares a route with Interstate 40 to Kingman, Arizona, Highway 93 makes a beeline for Las Vegas, NV, 290 miles from Phoenix.  Having departed the Valley of the Sun in the late afternoon, darkness soon overtook me.

 

Although a long transit on a dark, desert highway might otherwise have been a problem, my prior stays at Burro Creek Campground told me that I had nothing to fear.  When I arrived at Burro Creek after dark, it took a while to find the water-fill, but once my fresh water tank was half full; I found a campsite adjacent to Burro Creek, itself.

 

Although the temperature fell towards freezing, I was safe and warm inside.  My coach is equipped with a forced-air, propane heater and a propane refrigerator/freezer to keep my food fresh.  Since I was dry camping, I used battery power for all other services.  With a quiet night outside and the sound of rushing Burro Creek reaching my ears, I experienced an easy transition from wakefulness to sleep.

 

Wednesday morning, I continued northwest on Highway 93.  I intended to take I-40 West and arrive in Needles, CA that afternoon.  Early in my day’s journey, Highway 93 climbed to higher elevations, displaying snowy mountains on either side of the long valley in which the highway lies.

 

Stopping north of Wikieup, AZ, I discovered separate entrances to Windmill Ranch on either side of the highway.  There, framed by the posts and crossbeam of the ranch entrance were mountains, fresh with winter snow.  Since the highway climbs until reaching a summit near Kingman, AZ, I was interested to see if I might climb above the snowline that day.

 

When I stopped for fuel at a travel center on I-40, west of Kingman, snow lay across the ground, although the roadway was dry.  The snowy landscape, juxtaposed with the big rigs entering and leaving the truck stop provided ample contrast for my camera.

 

Leaving the travel center, I descended the long grade towards Kingman.  Along the way, a tour bus zoomed past me at seventy miles per hour.  It was the tour bus for the Harlem Globetrotters, rocketing towards a Las Vegas exhibition match.

 

At Kingman, the two highways diverged, with Highway 93 heading northwest towards Las Vegas.  Interstate 40, which was my route, turned almost due south.  With few roadside attractions on that sixty-five mile strip of arid desert, the trip to Needles became a moving meditation.  Approaching Needles, the interstate turns west and finally north, avoiding mountain ranges and seeking a good river crossing along the way.

 

Near Needles, there are separate bridges across the Colorado River for motor vehicles, the Burlington Northern Santa Fe Railroad and natural gas transmission pipelines.  A concentration of electrical transmission lines follows this route, as well.  At that crossing, conduits for almost all of our Old Energy and transportation services converge.  The reason for this convergence of services is the topography on either side of the Colorado River. 

 

In 1890, the Santa Fe Railroad built the first bridge across the Colorado River, near Needles.  Since railroad surveyors plan rail lines with minimum elevation changes, the steep and solid riverbanks at Needles helped the railroad reduce both construction and operating costs.  When the railroad bridge was relocated just upstream in 1945, a new Route 66 bridge soon replaced the original railroad bridge.  At that time, the 1916 highway bridge, known as Trails Arch Bridge, was decommissioned for vehicle traffic.  Now used as an oil and gas pipeline bridge, the nearly one hundred year old structure looks like a contemporary industrial icon.  When I-40 replaced Old-66 in the 1960s, a new highway bridge again spanned the river.  Not ironically, the current I-40 bridge occupies the same space that the original railroad bridge did in 1890.

 

Once I arrived in Needles, I proceeded to the Desert View Mobil Station, where I had twice bought tires for my trailer.  That second set of tires coincided with complete replacement of the brakes and active suspension linkages on my coach.  With Desert View’s lifetime warranty, I hoped to get my brakes fixed free.  Not only had one brake stopped operating, loose parts clanged away inside the brake assembly.  When I rolled in, the regular crew was there to greet me.  Before nightfall, they had replaced the faulty brake assembly and diagnosed a separate electrical problem with my trailer brakes.

 

Once the wheels were back on the trailer, I headed west, up the long grade on the California side of the river.  My destination was the Hole in the Wall Campground at the Mojave National Preserve, campsite for my last night before returning to LA.  Since the campground is twenty miles off the interstate, it takes a while to get there.  As twilight turned to darkness, I arrived at the sparsely occupied campground.

 

In the spring and fall, the campground is busy, with many of the thirty-five campsites occupied.  At an elevation of 4400 feet, with remnants of snowfall still occupying shaded areas, it was a cold 34 degrees f. when I arrived.  Unaware of how cold it might be at that elevation, I had thawed a steak earlier that day.  Unwilling to let my steak go uncooked, I bundled up in a heavy jacket, gloves and muffler before I ventured outside to grill the meat.

 

Once I was back inside for the night, I watched a DVD movie, did some writing on my laptop computer, ran the heater and enjoyed the lights.  Around bedtime, I realized that I had drained at least half of the available electrical current from my house batteries.  “Whoops”, I said to myself.  “I hope there is enough life in the batteries to spin the furnace motor when I need it.” 

 

The next morning, it was cold in the coach.  I checked the monitor panel and found the batteries in a critically low state of charge.  I was too cold to go outside and set up my portable Honda generator, which could easily recharge the batteries.  The only other power source was my Nissan Titan truck.  Braving the elements, I sprinted outside and started the engine.  Soon, electricity flowed from the alternator on the truck to the house batteries.  That allowed me to restart the furnace and warm the coach.

 

Well warmed, with a mug of hot coffee in my gloved hands, I then ventured out to set up and start the Honda generator.  After turning off the truck engine, I retreated inside to make breakfast while the generator recharged the batteries.  In less than an hour, the house batteries were full and operating properly.

 

In a flash of late brilliance, I remembered that a quiet night at Burro Creek's 1,960 foot elevation was not like a deep-freeze night at 4400 feet.  This was especially true after running all of my electrically powered services.  Since electrical systems operate less efficiently at low temperatures, it is a lesson I will recall next time I winter camp in the California desert.

 

On Thursday morning, as the Sun began to warm the air, I ventured out to take pictures of canyons, mesas and mountains shrouded in snow.  Snow typically lasts only a few days in this arid land.  This being the third day since the winter storm, it was indeed a treat to photograph a vast, yet intimate bit of desert.  I felt as if I were going back in time, to epochs long forgotten.  There, I viewed a winter scene, much as it looked before ancient climate changes created my spiritual home, the desert.  As always, The Great Reflector stood guard over all.

Returning from my New Earth, I departed the campground, stopping at the RV dump along the way.  When I opened the valve to release the gray water from its holding tank, nothing happened.  After about fifteen seconds, the gray water, warmed by my recent hot shower, released and dumped down the hose.  Next, I opened the black water valve.  It dumped immediately.  Luckily, the previous owner of my coach had installed a heater on the black water pipe.  That heater had been the unseen energy thief, draining my batteries overnight.  That thief was now a godsend.  If that pipe remained frozen, I would face a long drive home with a full holding tank, which meant both a heavy and noxious issue to deal with later.

 

Travel trailer manufacturers design their coaches for spring, summer and fall camping, not for freezing weather, parked far away from a reliable electrical supply.  By stretching my own limits a bit, I realized that winter camping in the desert is gloriously fun, if different from warm weather camping.  Still, the rare opportunity to travel almost 1000 miles and camp in three different desert sub-climates was, for me, yet another trip of a lifetime.

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By James McGillis at 06:04 PM | Travel | Comments (0) | Link

U.S. Highway 60 to Salome, Arizona - "Where She Danced" - 2008

Traveling East on Interstate I-10 and U.S. Highway 60 to Salome, Arizona - "Where She Danced"

Midday on May 15, 2008, I departed from Los Angeles, California, traveling that day to the little town of Quartzsite, Arizona.  Located on Interstate Highway I-10, just twenty miles east of the Colorado River and the border that the mighty river forms between Blythe, California and Ehrenberg, Arizona, Quartzsite often represents no more than a handy gas stop for those who travel between Los Angeles and Phoenix, Arizona.

 

As with many towns and cities in the Southwest, the population of Quartzsite flexes with the season.  The “snow birds” start arriving from Canada and the northern tier of states right after Thanksgiving and many stay until February or March of the following year.  During the winter season, the population swells to the point that hundreds, if not thousands of RVs, campers and travel-trailers stay in the open land that surrounds the town.  Swap meets and entire RV dealerships spring up over night, then disappear as the weather warms in the spring.

 

Arriving as I did in mid-May, the town seemed deserted, with only a hardy few souls holed-up in RVs that have been permanently rooted to the ground.  Arriving just at sundown, I captured the beautiful evening sky, as the light began to fade.

 

Jack Kerouac, in his classic novel, “On the Road”, published in 1957, had this to say about driving the old Highway 60, replaced by I-10 in the late 1960s: “Off we went.  I began recognizing towns in Arizona I’d passed in 1947 --- Wickenburg, Salome (where she danced), Quartzsite.”

 

Rather than taking I-10 into Phoenix the next day, I backtracked over Jack Kerouac’s old route, enjoying the mostly two-lane US Highway 60 through the Sonoran Desert.  All that afternoon, I watched puffy white clouds drift across the skyline while I headed on a beeline towards the old west town of Wickenburg, Arizona.

 

For some reason, no one can say the word “Salome” without following it with the phrase, “where she danced”.  Looking into this subject, I discovered the following historical account: “The town of Salome was established in late 1904 by Charles H. Pratt.  Pratt was speculating on where the railroad would lay its tracks, and missed it by a mile, so that the community had to be moved to its present location.  In the venture with Pratt were Earnest and Dick Wick Hall, the latter a widely known wit.  Dick Wick Hall was responsible for the story that the town was named because Mrs. Grace Salome Pratt, on taking off her shoes, found the sand burned her feet, hence the slogan, “Salome where she danced.”  As you can see in the accompanying picture, Salome is still famous as the place, “where she danced”.

 

For anyone traveling between Los Angeles and northern Arizona, I recommend old US Highway 60 as a great way to bypass Phoenix all together.  Any motorist who has arrived in Phoenix during rush hour (which lasts from 6:00 AM until 7:00 PM) will love the uncrowded old highway and its many charming vistas and decrepit little towns.  With their old time motels and abandoned brick buildings, one feels like they really are traveling back in time to the 1940s.

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By James McGillis at 07:21 PM | Travel | Comments (0) | Link

RV Camping in Quartzsite, Arizona - Crystalline Memories - 2007

RV Camping in Quartzsite, Arizona - Crystalline Memories

From Quartzsite, Arizona, I offer special greetings to all. For those who do not know, Quartzsite is located on Interstate-10, about thirty miles east of the Colorado River, which forms the border between California and Arizona. The first thing that comes to mind about Quartzsite is “Hot”. Although it is an RV boom-town in the winter, it is a “gas-stop” ghost town in the summer.

With my coach’s air conditioning set in the mid-70s, it is usually a good place to catch up on sleep, while making the two-day journey between LA and Phoenix. However, since it is too hot to do construction work during the day, a local highway bridge-building project went on all night, just yards from my camping spot. Last night, it was a case of “earplugs to the rescue”.

The founders of Quartzsite named it after a mineral for a reason. This part of the Arizona desert has many rock outcroppings that contain quartz crystals. In earlier days, “rock hounds” stripped the area of as much of the crystalline energy as they could find. Despite their avarice, the inaccessibility of many deposits leaves the mineral in abundance here.

Over the years, there has been much controversy about the supposed healing properties of naturally occurring crystals. Since no one can prove it either way, it becomes an issue of belief, or disbelief, as the case may be.

When I was ten, my parents bought me a radio-kit that used a quartz crystal as its receiver. In those days before transistor radios, a crystal set used no batteries at all. To make it work, I would take a “cat’s whisker” of wire and bend it until it touched the metal-encased crystal. One wire led from the bottom of the crystal’s metal cup and another wire ran from the cat’s whisker. Those two wires terminated at a small earpiece.

After placing the earpiece in my ear, I would manipulate the touch point of the cat’s whisker on the crystal. With some practice, I could receive radio broadcasts from 710/KMPC, a “clear channel station” from North Hollywood. In those days, a “clear channel” meant that there was no other station sharing the same frequency for many thousands of miles. At night, when the Earth’s atmosphere was conducive to sending radio waves everywhere, one could hear KMPC from many areas of the desert southwest, maybe even here in Quartzsite.

Better yet, I could also receive 1500/KBLA, which stood for “K-Burbank, Los Angeles”. Broadcasting from a tower at McCambridge Park in Burbank, 1500/KBLA competed with KHJ, KRLA and KFWB for the Top-40 AM radio audience in Los Angeles back in the 50’s and 60's. The station sounded great in the mid 60's with DJs like Bob Dayton, Emperor Bob Hudson, Dave Diamond, Humble Harve, Roger Christian & more.

Before he achieved fame and fortune, Wolfman Jack was a DJ on the midnight to six AM show, spinning records by request. Advertisers on his show included El Monte Legion Stadium (“No Levi’s or Capri’s please… Guys wear ties. This Saturday night, hear Richie Valence live, singing his new hit tune, ‘Oh, Donna’”).

Fans of the movie American Graffiti, staring Harrison Ford in an early role will recall that when the young people in the movie went cruising on Saturday nights, Wolfman Jack was always playing on their car radios.

Many summer nights, my friend Paul and I would sit in our home-built, backyard clubhouse, each of us listening to the Wolfman on our own personal crystal sets.

Does “crystal power” really exist? Sitting here in the “land of crystals”, I can say, “Yes; absolutely”. Whether it was the quartz crystal of my 1950’s crystal set, the crystal energy of Quartzsite, Arizona or the crystal amulet I wear around my neck, each has the power to focus our consciousness as we please. Crystals are ancient distillations of Earth energy, which allow us to go “forward” or “backward” in time, as we see fit.

Now I raise my morning coffee cup to you and to your own very special “crystal power”. Enjoy

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