Not On The Mountain Anymore. It’s a Whole Other Plane.
Got down from my perch just fine. Very little slipping or sliding. Set up in Phoenix at an RV park that was, uhm, available. Wouldn’t have been my first choice based on reviews and photos. Nothing to look at, though clean and friendly. But on the plus side…
I immediately flushed my tanks when I arrived. More than once. There was a distinct and unpleasant odor when I opened the trailer door at these new digs. I wasn’t sure why, but I suspected it was the result of driving 100 or so miles with a full gray tank which is mostly just water but not only water. 1.5 weeks of dishwashing. So tomato sauce, coffee grounds, tuna fish. (Although with both the pasta sauces and tuna, I tend to wipe out the bowls, dishes and pots before washing.) It was offensive. On a side note, the black tank wasn’t full, but it wasn’t empty either. I flushed and flushed – and flushed – then left for a while hoping I’d resolved the issue. And I had.
I also showered using all the water I wanted (actually still conserving to some degree even when I’m at a campground) and it was kinda glorious.
I threw out trash! Oh the simple pleasures of life.
But back to the RV park. What the reviews don’t mention – which is crazy – is that the park is just down the street from a municipal airport that’s apparently a favorite with people who fly to and from work every day. Most of the night, then beginning early in the morning, living here is like living on a tarmac. Actually, it’s like living on the runway.
Cool if you’re a Jim Jarmusch movie, but most of the day, every day, no, certainly not if you’re living directly underneath each final approach.
This clip covers the action between 10:45 and 11am this morning. It was busier earlier and in morning and last night. Plus I missed two planes. (Still learning the camera.) Oh, and the hum, sometimes low roar, of Interstate 17 is omnipresent.
Only 2 nights, though, so all good.