When we drove to the Valley of Fire we came through Las Vegas and entered the park through the West entrance. We decided to leave by way of the East Entrance and drive through part of the Lake Mead National Recreation Area. We didn't see much of the lake, but the surrounding mountains were quite interesting if you like a muted earth-tone pallet of color. We liked their names: to the East were the Black Mountains and to the West were the Muddy Mountains.
We didn't stop to take pictures. We had many miles to cover to get home.
We drove south on I-15 and west on CA-68, and stopped for the night at a quirky little place called Bakersfield RV Travel Park.
Being somewhat new to the RV world, we were surprised and delighted taking an after-dinner walk down the shaded lanes of this small, vintage RV community. Almost every space was occupied. At least 90% of the rigs were occupied by long time, permanent residents.
Craig regretted that we didn't have the camera on our walk, but by the time we thought of it, it was already getting dark. The above picture is a quick shot of our nearest neighbor taken in the morning before we pulled out.
By looking at the renewal stickers on a few of the license plates, we were able to guess how long some of them had been there. They were probably old even then. The oldest sticker I saw was 1992. Twenty-one years since it was legally registered. Who knows how long it had been there before that! But the amazing thing was that most were very clean and looked "loved." Many had attached tent rooms like the one at the left in the picture above. Most had collections of chairs, grills, and plants in their yards, but not a lot of junk. As we passed by, one couple was removing a tarp from over a very nice, full size pool table for an evening game.
We were the strangers, but everyone we passed by nodded or greeted us. We stopped for a chat with one nice man who noticed Craig's Oakland A's hat. After the usual exchange of "where are you from?" he asked if we were planning on staying there permanently. It felt a bit unreal. A bit like something from a Ray Bradbury book.
This trip sure was a potpourri of stops: Walmart parking lots, a gated golf resort, a national park, a state park, and finally a vintage park.
Home is where you are parked.
Tonight the Alfa is once again parked in her place on our land, waiting for the next adventure.