Nevada - Las Vegas

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Arizona

We crossed into Arizona by way of Quartzsite, a town seemingly located on the surface of Mars and occupied by two-dozen RV sites, all of which were empty. The night we spent parked up in an open desert gave us a spectacular light show as storms raged in the distance and then overhead, turning the mountains into ghostly silhouettes.

Apparently Arizona isn't just desert. Prescott, which is pronounced Press Kit but I refuse to do so on account of common sense and being able to read and talk correctly, is a pretty little town in the mountainous central Arizona. Much of central Arizona is +7000ft above sea level, a fact our van chose to take note of when struggling to start due to lack of oxygen in the atmosphere. We spent a couple of nights at a free campsite on Copper Basin Road (site number 7). It was less of a campsite, more of a wood on a mountain with a dirt track; the type of place where doggers meet and kids let off fireworks. Another mouse (Zachary Allen) made its way into our van but scarpered before I was able to send it to the same fate as Chad Allen from Washington.

We set about exploring central Arizona for the best part of a week before going on to Scottsdale in Phoenix to stay with Emma’s family friends – David and Gill. Central Arizona, wow, who knew! The only reason we headed into this area was to waste some time before David and Gill were ready to host us. It turns out this was one of the most spellbinding places we could have visited. We drank on whiskey row in Prescott, visited the Lowell observatory in Flagstaff as well as the exceptionally friendly Mother Road Brewery where local Engineer, Andy, paid for all of our drinks without us knowing. Further south in Sedona we hiked (and climbed) up Cathedral Rock, an epic red-rock monolith overlooking Oak Creek, before sunning ourselves at the ridiculously picturesque Buddha Beach along Oak Creek’s meandering route. I don’t usually like cold water but this place was too beautiful not to swim. After 30 minutes of easing myself into the cold mountain water (I totally disagree with jumping in – it is disgusting and serves only to make me immediately want to get out again) I lounged under waterfalls, slid down rock slides, sat in bubbling pools and splashed around like a child for some of the happiest hours of my life. Emma tanned herself like some sort of river goddess on the hot rocks with a smile on her face which told me she had all but forgiven me for making her climb up the violently steep boulders leading to the summit of Cathedral Rock.

This reminds me of the occasion that Emma took us on a GPS (mis)guided route to Yosemite which lead us down a one way dirt track called Ward’s Ferry Road. On one side of the track a sheer cliff rose a thousand feet above our heads, on the other side a sheer cliff plummeted a thousand feet to our indisputable death. I drove swearing, Emma sat there crying. For an hour I negotiated this road to hell, hating my very existence, before the road broadened and we made it out alive. Testament to checking the map as well as the GPS route.

Scottsdale is a heavily manicured place to the north of Phoenix. A land of cacti and golf courses it seemingly had little to offer intrepid travellers such as us. What I hadn’t counted on was David and Gill being such wonderful hosts. Emma’s dad had sent word ahead of us for David to ‘get the beers in’ which David duly provided. Most of our three days there were spent talking, or rather listening, to David and his fascinating stories of his career and life’s ups and downs. He wouldn’t mind me saying that his family has been through a lot with both of his sons having suffered drug addictions. This would be enough to spoil most dinner conversations but David has taken it upon himself to acquire his insurance brokers licence and set up a company with his sons to provide addicts with a service to help them get the right rehab treatment supported by the right insurance policies. What is amazing is that David has taken his knowledge of an adverse situation and turned it into an advantage, creating a way to keep his boys clean and in work as well as helping others in the same situation. I found our stay a very inspirational one and, having met one of his sons, I am confident that the work they are doing will help a great number of people.

Climbing to the top of Thumb Butte in Prescott.

Running over a disused mine shaft in "ghost town" Jerome - deeper than the length of the Empire State.

Keeping his old ticker going with a few tweaks.

Pastel coloured sunset through Flagstaff forests.

Top brewery in Flagstaff - Motheroad. Top folks.

Working up a sweat by hiking up Cathederal Rock in Sedona - the views were worth it!

Playing in the river by Budda Beach.

Luke working up the courage to go in the river.

We came to the Grand Canyon to see...nothing! Snow clouds galore.

That's better. Miles and miles of canyon.

Artwork inside the watchtower at Desert View.

A stop along Desert View Drive.

Life in a Van

Here are some of our top tips for living in a van for an extended period of time. 

Practice

Prior to our departure we tried to prepare ourselves for life in a van together by reducing our belongings; selling things we didn’t need and recycling/throwing away anything we couldn’t sell. As anyone who has ever tried to do this before moving house will tell you, you will feel like you have reduced your belongings by a significant amount only to find that, come moving day, you fill the moving van up to the top with what looks like box after box of junk. Still, the mind-set of reducing your belongings to only those things you really need has helped us as we don’t find we want for anything. You will have fewer clothing choices, fewer hair and beauty products and fewer entertainment options but from our experience – you don’t need that many.

Proximity

We live in incredibly close proximity to one another. Keeping the place tidy and everything where it should be is a good idea. Traversing from the north wing of the van to the southern wing requires passing each other. If one is standing then the other has to wait to pass. It is likely that you will touch each other in the process. Fortunately for us we don’t mind that however if one or both of you are in a bad mood then touching each other can easily become “erm, say excuse me?!” or even “why did you push me?” It is wise to consider each other’s moods and resist antagonising each other more than necessary. A cheeky fart can easily ruin dinner. I always remember something my father in law said at my wedding – “forgive easily”. It is a very good piece of advice.

Toilet

If you are lucky enough to have a toilet/poop cupboard in your van then you need to know what it can and can’t handle.  You can put what you like down ours but only if you are prepared to have it thrown back out the gaps in the toilet shutter when you go over bumps – mostly when the holding tank is getting full. We now cling film across the bowl when moving. Sticking to a liquids only is a good rule as it reduces the use of toilet paper and is easier to power hose away when spillage does occur. As for going to the toilet – give each other space. Perhaps listen to some music or sing loudly in the front seat with the windows open. And remember – don’t try going when the vehicle is in motion unless you like bathing in your own excrement.

Emptying the toilet at dump stations can be a right laugh as well. When entering a campsite people often ask us whether we need to dump. They are referring to the emptying of the tanks, not overly personalising our visit. Check that the exit pipes are fully connected before opening the valve and maybe wear some rubber gloves. We keep disinfectant on hand as well to clean the pipes and ourselves with afterwards. Our pipes leak a little which means we get a nice little stream of foetid piss trickling past our feet whenever we empty the tank. Laugh as much as possible or you will cry.

Driving and Navigating

One of you may be more confident at driving and/or navigating. In our case I am happy to drive the perilous mountain roads whilst Emma is fairly confident shouting at people from across the freeway. Personally I find the freeways here to be disgusting as people drive in as close proximity as possible to you and will undertake and overtake with such speed and ferocity to make you all but wonder how any American road user is still alive - Emma has enough road rage herself to act like a local asshole. We got a satnav with our van which we use mostly for getting to locations around towns where our maps don’t detail. For any city to city driving always cross reference with your maps though. As I will discuss in our California section of our blog, not checking the map can lead you into some places you do not wish to be.

Your van is bulky as well, give every manoeuvre space. Get someone out the vehicle to back you in or out. Emma is still learning that if I can’t see her when she is outside the vehicle then she is no good to me. I am still learning to drive on the right hand side of the road. It’s quite a rapid learning curve though.

Entertainment/Electrics

A laptop is great for when you are perched in café and checking your emails etc but unless you have hook-ups when you are camping then your battery will run flat in no time. In most campers you have two batteries – one for the starter/driving instruments and one ‘house’ battery for internal lights, water pump and fans. All this 12v energy is great for powering small electronic devices so if you want to watch movies or tv shows then put them on your phone and buy a small set of speakers to plug into. If you have no 12v outlets in the back of the van you can buy very cheap 12v cigarette lighter sockets and wire them to the house battery (there are only 2 wires – one positive, one negative and you can’t electrocute yourself). I keep a small reel of electrical wire and electrical tape to hand so I can wire the 12v outlet anywhere I like and make repairs to any of the other electrics. We also have a jump starter which has a 12v outlet and a USB outlet as well which is ideal for powering our phones and e-books. Sure the screen is small but we have hundreds of hours’ worth of TV shows which we can choose to watch when the sun goes down at 8pm and we aren’t ready for bed. Same goes for music – a vast and varied collection is a great idea to have, but get it on an iPod or something as they can be powered from a USB or 12v adapter.

Southern California

The San Luis Reservoir provides water to the people of Central California. An unimpressive body of water, this splash in the middle of nowhere accompanies the San Luis Reservoir Recreation Area. Lots of reservoirs in the US are accompanied by a recreation area charging punters to launch boats, camp and park cars. Dismayed at the $30 fee to boondock (AKA dry camping or camping without hook-ups) we were directed down the road to a smaller, cheaper yet equally as undeveloped campsite. The dusty track took us toward the smaller lake, flanked on one side by rolling hills of gold and on the other a small plateau where we made our camp. A row of scrub and trees separated us from the water and sheltered us from a brutal wind which swept across the brown soup, pinning the waterborne coots to their spots and suspending the vultures in the air as if inanimate. We parked the van with the side doors to the lake so as to provide a view as we sat on our sofa. The doors opened we immediately accrued a swarm of insects which took Emma the best part of an hour to massacre. I rotated the van and we set about exploring our surroundings. Emma checked out the toilet facility. The brochure said that there were none available but the small hut with the international ‘male/female’ signs suggested otherwise. Hiroshima circa 1945 was a more hospitable place than this toilet, Emma informed me. I guess once the toilets got dirty they just started telling people that there were no toilets, thus negating the need to clean them. The paid attendant sat a mile away in a booth watching TV; I thought she might have been happy for a project to do-do. 

As sun set the swallows dive bombed around the van to a background of bronze hills and lapping water. If it wasn’t such a weird place I’d recommend it for the views alone but once the sun had sunk the glory faded and we were reminded once more that we sat locked in a van, isolated from civilisation next to a man-made dam of muddy water occupied by mosquitos and adorned with a small hut filled with rotting human excrement.

We hadn’t intended to go to Santa Cruz, but memories of a trip I’d made three years prior drew me back. Previously, three friends and I took a two week road trip along the Californian coast. Santa Cruz was a highlight as we chatted to locals and danced away to a local band at the highly regarded establishment – The Crepe Place. I spent a few hours dragging Emma up and down the back streets looking for a bar we had visited before the gig. All I could remember of it was the vaudeville interior and dingy red lights. To my dismay I found it shut-up and I assumed closed down. We located an off-piste campsite called Bob’s Pineground and showered and changed before heading back out. Bob’s Pineground was Bob’s back garden. Just before leaving I saw a hummingbird check out a brightly coloured beach towel slung over the van door. Then, as Emma popped her head out to see what I was making a fuss about, a pair of reclusive Californian Quails ran across our path as a Western Scrub Jay landed on the table in front of us. If that wasn’t enough up close wildlife for 5 minutes, I looked up to see a Red Shouldered Hawk swoop into its nest right above our heads. Needless to say we were gobsmacked with the nature on offer at Bob’s place.

Our ornithological passions satisfied we strolled into town for a few beers. Not wishing to give up on the red roomed bar I had visited and encouraged but aforementioned beers I dragged Emma one last time in search of the mythical watering hole. Lo and behold I found the doors open and in exactly the same condition as I remembered. I bounced in like an overactive puppy who had drunk a few too many beers and immediately struck up conversation with the locals. One, Tate, turned out to be from London, coincidentally from the same area we (used to) live; he even had the same doctor as me! Tate chatted to me about his life in Santa Cruz before I bluntly insisted he took Emma and me on his night out. It turned out that he was waiting for the barmaid to finish her shift so she could drive him to a metal gig out in the sticks. I politely forced her to take us with her and before we knew it we were in the back of a stranger’s car being driven across town.


The bar was a shed like complex located on the outskirts of town. Emma and I tucked into some local brews, observed the old-school bowling alley out back and listened to the terrible dross emitted from the ‘doom-metal’ band on stage. Before long we began to wonder where the hell we were – nobody walks in the US, everyone had driven to this bar – so we could have been miles and miles from where we were staying. With my last dregs of phone battery I opened Google maps and pinpointed our location which happened to be right next door to Bob’s. Sometimes you do things which on any other day you would deem foolish. By all accounts we should have found ourselves 20 miles from home on an industrial estate surrounded by miscreants. Not today; today my foolishness paid off. We swayed back through Bob’s yard, past his pit-bull terrier and flopped happily onto our bed – pre-set up by an otherwise organised and resourceful me.

We drove south via Big Sur to the town of San Luis Obispo. I had been here before on my other travels but the town had been dead and we found nothing to entertain us during our stay. This time however the lively atmosphere was in full swing as prospective students flooded to town to check out the local university. We spent a happy number of hours walking round the town, browsing the shops and drinking the local coffee. We eventually ended up in Mother’s Tavern or Mo-Tav and I started chatting to a bloke who looked like Lemmy about the baseball on TV. Mickey, as he introduced himself, told me he was playing in a band next door at SLO Brew, the local brew pub/music venue. Mickey happened to be Mickey from the band Mickey and the Motorcars, a country-rock outfit touring the country at that time. I told him we’d come and watch so later that evening we headed into the plaid-infested SLO Brew to watch a genre of music I have very rarely been interested in. Well Mickey and his lovely little motorcars were awesome. Although Emma refused to two-step dance with me I dragged her to the front and we cheered him on like a couple of very out of place British losers. It was worth is to see the look on everyone’s faces when Mickey looked down and saluted Emma and I. Groupies. I think that makes us groupies.
So yeah that's me now. I pretty much hang out with rock stars. We had at this point taken to sleeping in the van parked on a quiet street. Saves us $30-50 a night which leaves more money for rock star things like leather and expensive seafood.

Further down the coast we visited Pismo Beach, occasional holiday spot for what I have called the Pismo Dicks. Arriving at an oversubscribed state park campground we were turned around and told to come back at 12pm. We parked outside for an hour and drove back, along with around 15 others, at 11.55. Lacking in management skills the ranger in charge of the entry booth told everyone to drive round in circles. The result was people who had been waiting for 5 minutes briefly found themselves at the front of the queue whilst those of us who had waited for hours were sent to the back. Round and round the circle of vehicles went until the ranger arranged a queue. By this point we had been cut up and over taken by a bunch of Pismo Dicks who wouldn’t know a polite queue if I had organised a public forum to discuss the details of a polite queue and provided biscuits and coffee. I got angry but we got in – just; we were the last campers given a spot for the night. Livid at the behaviour of the jeering, and frankly overweight, visitors to Pismo we left early the next morning lest we encounter more dickish behaviour on the way out.

Santa Barbara was a lovely little town which Emma had recalled from her travels here during her childhood. Wealthy and it knows it, Santa Barbz was once again a pleasant place to wander on a warm spring day. We visited the beautiful town courthouse so as take in a small piece of the culture (other than coffee shops, restaurants and breweries). There also seemed to be relaxed regulations regarding overnight parking as the streets a short walk away from the centre hosted a number of beat-up campers and RV’s. We parked out of the way under a big tropical tree and spent the night undisturbed, but for a heavy footed squirrel smashing about on the roof.

Our journey on to San Diego was a quick one. We had intended to stop in Santa Monica in LA but the roads approaching and within LA were absolutely atrocious. Deciding whilst we were still on the move to bypass LA completely we pushed on to San Diego by way of an overnight stop in Dana Point.

Both Emma and I had looked forward to San Diego for a while. We had read up on an area of the city where RV owners could park up for weeks at a time and enjoy the ocean scenery. Also we would be making a stop at the world famous zoo, a must for any animal lover in Southern California. Since the blog containing the San Diego RV parking information had been written, the city had cracked down on all overnight parking leaving us with the choice of paying $50 for a simple tarmac spot by the freeway or a slightly cheaper option of camping up in a the hills at Sweetwater State Park. We opted for the state park. This meant that we had to drive in and out of the city to explore and pay very high parking charges whilst we were there. This, plus the fact that San Diego has no real centre of activity – the downtown occupies a number of blocks, most of which contains buildings no tourist would ever have any interest in – meant that we weren’t all that taken with the city. Still, the zoo was excellent. We watched the zookeepers feed the Maned Wolves mice and explain a little about the animals and their preservation programs. The problem with Maned Wolves is that they smell like nothing I have ever experienced before. At first you notice the scent of melted cheese and herbs which makes your mouth water. This is closely followed by the bitterness of marijuana and urine before clipping the back of your throat with full blown sewage. On their own these smells are bearable but when you think you are smelling something delicious only to be tricked into sniffing acrid piss your mind (and stomach) does somersaults. This is how I imagine businessmen visiting Thailand feel when they pay for sex only to find that Tina is actually Terry. Ashamed, disgusted and only slightly aroused. But mostly disgusted.

Before leaving San Diego we picked up a nest of ants that had managed to get inside via our hookup cable. Emma and I had fun murdering an entire colony as well as transporting a few remaining survivors across America and out into the deserts of Arizona.

Surrounded by sweet smelling figs.

Santa Cruz street art.

Devouring a Penny's ice cream before hitting the Giant Dipper - should have done it the other way around!

A Santa Bruzin good time on this old thing.

Worshiping the sun Gods at Nepenthe, Highway 1.

Infinite blue skies in SoCal.

Feeling at home on the Big Sur coastline.

SLO Brew where we (ahem Luke) danced to Mickey and the Motorcars.

A classic Cali landscape in Santa Barbara.

Handmade tiles line the staircase of the Santa Barbara courthouse.

For my sister, Hannah.

TRUMP!