Wikipedia on graphomania:
"Outside the psychiatric definitions of graphomania and related conditions, the word is used more broadly to label the urge and need to write excessively, professionally or not."
I just have to get it out of the way. Guilty as charged.
________________________________________________________________________________________
After my last visit to Arizona in October of infamous 2020, I felt an unusual sense of accomplishment: my Avalon-blue 1995 Range Rover Classic was complete. There were little things to do and fix here and there, like a better stereo or more-convenient storage, but otherwise I felt like this was the vehicle I could take on a trip to the land's end at any time. Like, call my lovely wife from the office and say "I am going to stop by for dinner, and then drive to Alaska. Wanna join me?"
Cue Forrest Gump: "And just like that, my running days was over."
So was the Classic's running days.
One Saturday morning in November I took Jules for a morning walk on the beach in La Jolla, and upon our return the truck started very reluctantly, and seemed to have only a few ponies left - so taking the highway home was out of question, and I had to use low range to climb from the sea level. The Classic barely made it home, and required nearly a running start to take its spot at the garage apron.
The next morning it would not start at all.
The usual electrical suspects - distributor cap, rotor, ignition wires and spark plugs, this and that sensor - were replaced in a quick succession, to no use. I was not so much furious, but determined to find what happened; after all, what if it happened to me halfway between Dawson City and Fairbanks? Or in Death Valley? With that determination, I refused to take the truck to a competent shop, and tore into it "with a vengeance and furious anger." In a few days, I was able to start it - but it ran terribly, and was making sounds like it was about to toss a rod through the block. I shut it off and resigned to get some diagnostic equipment from Amazon.
Then we attempted a family trip to Jackson, Wyoming, in a much-younger Land Rover LR4 with one-third of the mileage of the Classic - to find it dead on the side of the road in Nevada. I'll spare NR the details of that great trip, but if you're curious.....
Fast forward to mid-January of 2021.
That Classic is still sitting on the garage apron, with engine half torn apart and parts everywhere. I figured out what it was - a timing chain slipping a couple of teeth on a worn and defective camshaft sprocket; this is a kind of a failure you don't anticipate when you're going to the land's end. It could have been fixed "in the sticks," but without replacement chain and sprockets the fix would not have lasted very long. I had all the parts and tools, but not a whole lot of motivation to wrap it all up.
And then I receive a message from Chris Snell. He has a bad case of cabin (or island?) fever in the middle of Pennsylvania, and wants badly to take a trip just about anywhere. I want to drive to Idaho - but it involves a lot of very cold camping nights. Chris wants to drive to Mexico - but what with the pandemic raging on, and border crossings?
Once the dates are set, the motivation to do something good to the Classic is back. Every time I work on it, I turn around and think - maybe the time could be better invested in fixing minor bugs in my D1 or another 95 LWB Classic... It doesn't help that mid-way I manage to install the cam sprocket 90 degrees out, and have to pull a bunch of parts again to make it right. The truck is declared fit for driving two days before the trip - way outside my comfort zone after any major repair done by me.
Chris arrives a day before the trip; we still haven't decided where we're going. By that time, my lovely wife Lena tells me that Jules The Airedale goes on the trip with us - which changes the equation somehow. Baja California is out of question now, and the cold winter weather front passing through Southwest makes a trip through Death Valley less attractive.
So, on a brisk Saturday morning, out of a choice of going North or South, we're on our way East to ...
El Camino Del Diablo
Let's bust out the Wikipedia again:
Sure sounds like fun!
On top of its historic significance, the U.S. portion of El Camino Del Diablo passes through and by the Barry M. Goldwater Air Force (bombing) range, where ... well, things get bombed. So all visitors are required to view an instructional video (cheating is discouraged) and obtain a permit online, so it was not really a spur-of-the-moment decision - we discussed it at some length a couple of days before the trip, barely enough to get the permits.
So now we're moving briskly East on Interstate 8. Our first stop is for gas - not sure if it was related to my recent repair, but the Classic is seriously thirsty, to the tune of 10 mpg. Looks like we won't be skipping too many gas stations on this trip.
We stock up on masa, tortillas, vegetables, cooking oil, and toilet paper, in a Mexican supermarket in El Centro, and treat ourselves to a late lunch in Marisco El Azul in Yuma.
The octopus ceviche is out of this world. Here's my first and last photo of food from this trip:
"Outside the psychiatric definitions of graphomania and related conditions, the word is used more broadly to label the urge and need to write excessively, professionally or not."
I just have to get it out of the way. Guilty as charged.
________________________________________________________________________________________
After my last visit to Arizona in October of infamous 2020, I felt an unusual sense of accomplishment: my Avalon-blue 1995 Range Rover Classic was complete. There were little things to do and fix here and there, like a better stereo or more-convenient storage, but otherwise I felt like this was the vehicle I could take on a trip to the land's end at any time. Like, call my lovely wife from the office and say "I am going to stop by for dinner, and then drive to Alaska. Wanna join me?"
Cue Forrest Gump: "And just like that, my running days was over."
So was the Classic's running days.
One Saturday morning in November I took Jules for a morning walk on the beach in La Jolla, and upon our return the truck started very reluctantly, and seemed to have only a few ponies left - so taking the highway home was out of question, and I had to use low range to climb from the sea level. The Classic barely made it home, and required nearly a running start to take its spot at the garage apron.
The next morning it would not start at all.
The usual electrical suspects - distributor cap, rotor, ignition wires and spark plugs, this and that sensor - were replaced in a quick succession, to no use. I was not so much furious, but determined to find what happened; after all, what if it happened to me halfway between Dawson City and Fairbanks? Or in Death Valley? With that determination, I refused to take the truck to a competent shop, and tore into it "with a vengeance and furious anger." In a few days, I was able to start it - but it ran terribly, and was making sounds like it was about to toss a rod through the block. I shut it off and resigned to get some diagnostic equipment from Amazon.
Then we attempted a family trip to Jackson, Wyoming, in a much-younger Land Rover LR4 with one-third of the mileage of the Classic - to find it dead on the side of the road in Nevada. I'll spare NR the details of that great trip, but if you're curious.....
Fast forward to mid-January of 2021.
That Classic is still sitting on the garage apron, with engine half torn apart and parts everywhere. I figured out what it was - a timing chain slipping a couple of teeth on a worn and defective camshaft sprocket; this is a kind of a failure you don't anticipate when you're going to the land's end. It could have been fixed "in the sticks," but without replacement chain and sprockets the fix would not have lasted very long. I had all the parts and tools, but not a whole lot of motivation to wrap it all up.
And then I receive a message from Chris Snell. He has a bad case of cabin (or island?) fever in the middle of Pennsylvania, and wants badly to take a trip just about anywhere. I want to drive to Idaho - but it involves a lot of very cold camping nights. Chris wants to drive to Mexico - but what with the pandemic raging on, and border crossings?
Once the dates are set, the motivation to do something good to the Classic is back. Every time I work on it, I turn around and think - maybe the time could be better invested in fixing minor bugs in my D1 or another 95 LWB Classic... It doesn't help that mid-way I manage to install the cam sprocket 90 degrees out, and have to pull a bunch of parts again to make it right. The truck is declared fit for driving two days before the trip - way outside my comfort zone after any major repair done by me.
Chris arrives a day before the trip; we still haven't decided where we're going. By that time, my lovely wife Lena tells me that Jules The Airedale goes on the trip with us - which changes the equation somehow. Baja California is out of question now, and the cold winter weather front passing through Southwest makes a trip through Death Valley less attractive.
So, on a brisk Saturday morning, out of a choice of going North or South, we're on our way East to ...
El Camino Del Diablo
Let's bust out the Wikipedia again:
El Camino del Diablo (Spanish, meaning "The Devil's Highway") is a historic 250-mile (400 km) road that currently extends through some of the most remote and arid terrain of the Sonoran Desert in Pima County and Yuma County, Arizona. In use for at least 1,000 years, El Camino del Diablo is believed to have started as a series of footpaths used by desert-dwelling Native Americans. From the 16th to the 19th centuries, the road was used extensively by conquistadores, explorers, missionaries, settlers, miners, and cartographers. Use of the trail declined sharply after the railroad reached Yuma in 1870. In recognition of its historic significance, El Camino del Diablo was listed on the National Register of Historic Places in 1978. It has also been designated a Bureau of Land Management Back Country Byway.
The name, like its other historic name Camino del Muerto <snip> refers to the harsh, unforgiving conditions on trail.
<snip>
Today, the Camino del Diablo remains a dirt road, suitable for four-wheel drive and high-clearance vehicles carrying extra water and emergency equipment. No emergency or tow services are available, and visitors use the trail at their own risk.
Sure sounds like fun!
On top of its historic significance, the U.S. portion of El Camino Del Diablo passes through and by the Barry M. Goldwater Air Force (bombing) range, where ... well, things get bombed. So all visitors are required to view an instructional video (cheating is discouraged) and obtain a permit online, so it was not really a spur-of-the-moment decision - we discussed it at some length a couple of days before the trip, barely enough to get the permits.
So now we're moving briskly East on Interstate 8. Our first stop is for gas - not sure if it was related to my recent repair, but the Classic is seriously thirsty, to the tune of 10 mpg. Looks like we won't be skipping too many gas stations on this trip.
We stock up on masa, tortillas, vegetables, cooking oil, and toilet paper, in a Mexican supermarket in El Centro, and treat ourselves to a late lunch in Marisco El Azul in Yuma.
The octopus ceviche is out of this world. Here's my first and last photo of food from this trip: