I guess it's where they dig up those dolls.

American Girl Mine boondocking.

This is precisely where we've been living for the past two weeks.  Really beautiful, windshield full of mountain and sky, periodic air shows.

Exit 164, one exit away, has good well water for $3/≤55 gallons, at the Shell station.  Go around behind,  next to the dump station.  Don't get these confused:  the dump station is the one that smells bad.

We're on our way to visit our friend Sue, and to stay a little while in her desert.  

Do you use a calendar?  Sometimes we get curious about the date or the day of the week, and our computer tells us that, but I forget things like what day did we empty the toilet?  or when did I start wearing this outfit?  That's why I think a calendar might be good.

We just went through 1000 yards of Hell.  Pretty this time of year.  East of Yuma on I8 is a short stretch of OH MY GOD SLOW DOWN where I squeezed out all excess moisture through my palms.  Palms.

Lower your standards.

You know how I like to present thoughtful, intelligent, well-developed posts.  A tasty, full-course meal of profundity and visual delights. A mixed-media buffet. Tonight's special is the Swanson salisbury steak dinner of blog posts.  May I recommend Walmart's boxed Sweet Red to go with that?

Lunch.  So beautiful!  Thanks, Annie.

Imperial Dunes.  

What is this tree?

This is that.

That was this.  Plank road over the dunes.

 

I just liked it.

I didn't like this.

We walked a long way specifically to get here, but I got the willies.  High tension power lines snapping over our heads, and this thing in our sights.  I fought the urge to run.  RUN!  ME!  Such was the extent of my discomfort.

Ahh. Much better.  Check out that road.

It may be hard to tell, but this is freakin' deep.  Each dot on the floor is a giant sequoia grove.  Or some kind of bush.

I hope the mashed potatoes were to your liking, and that you weren't too upset by the succotash mixing in with your apple cobbler.