Today was the shortest mileage yet covered, but in many other ways it was the greatest distance.
Flowering prickly pear cactus lined the roadway east. I heard tell there was a hot spring down there somewhere and sure enough a sign announced it, indicating a gravelly road for about 2 miles. The Bruiser, as you know, is not fond of these sorts of roads, believing he is regally bread for smooth pavement rather than the dirt trails reserved for the common off-roaders (no offense intended, Gerbie! He just doesn't know better). So we had a little talk about that and he is a trooper. It was kind of like dressing up a hippo in spandex and sending him off to run a steeplechase, but we did just fine. The trick is to be light on the grips and not fight the tendencies to twitch off course. The horse knows how to navigate the trail better than the rider.
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| The road in |
Abandoned bathhouses and stores marked the entrance to the hot spring trail. This was a very popular place a century ago. With the right marketing this could have been another Harrison Hot Springs.
And much longer than that, one would presume from evidence of the odd petroglyph and pictogram etched on the rock. One information sign suggested an age of 1000 B.C. for this one that depicts spear points, they reckon.
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Geothermal water of 105 F was contained by siltstone rock slabs patiently assembled and remodified over the centuries by forgotten labourers. It was right at the water’s edge of the Rio Grand.
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| Enticing but when the air is body temperature and this is 105F... |
Water levels are so low that one could walk across it without getting wet, as in fact the neighbours to the south had done. Handmade trinkets were offered for sale on the honour system. I made a charitable donation (I expect my tax receipt is forthcoming), but these delicate items would never survive my trip home.
After a grand total of 40 miles (20 of which I will have to retrace tomorrow) I settled in to a very quiet, cool and grassy campground at Rio Village. Indeed I was the only one here at 5:00 as I sat on the grass enjoying a very large, cold beer. As I read, mused and dozed I was brushed with gentle (as opposed to gale force) breezes and rays of sun through the branches that warmed rather than seared my face. No vehicles, no unhappy children or barking dogs. Just a cacophony (thank you, Spellchecker) of bird songs sounding like an undisciplined orchestra of unfamiliar instruments.
For any birders out there, what is a bright scarlet red bird about the size of a sparrow that sports a big tuft on its head?
The pigeons here are in disguise—they are much slimmer than ours, grey-brown colour with interesting markings on the tips but the song and familiar goofy walk gives them away.
Speaking of wildlife, what do you think of this one?
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| I have only seen one as a road casualty, but I heard them oinking all night. |
After a dinner of camp gruel I strolled along the nature trail to an overlook of the river. Encountered a display of the wares of another hopeful absentee vendor from across the river.
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| Look! Exotic desert vegetation! :) |
Well, the gentle breeze is kicking up again and threatens to make tumbleweed of my tent so I’d better get in it and pin it to the ground..
