The value of having one's own electricity

I'm thinking about picking up a generator. You know, one of those tiny lightweight quiet portable embarrassingly efficient Honda gas powered electrical generators. We live in a neighborhood that is representative of the state of the infrastructure in this country. Only one electrical circuit serves our slice of the city, and when two drops of rain fall or the wind blows hard enough to ripple the leaves, the power goes away. We have no collateral circulation, so when that one line goes down, we revert to the 19^th century for a while.

We can live with this, for the lantern, camp stove, and if needed the sleeping bags still work just fine. But a big storm has taken us down for three days more than once, and I'd like the means to keep the freezer working long enough to save all that meat. And I'm ready to take a generator camping, at least part of the time. That last sentence is illustrative of the change that can occur as folks mature.

I vividly recall a morning in Yellowstone many years ago, where I had enjoyed a six mile run that began before dawn. Ground fog had closed off my world, limiting my view to about 40 yards as I progressed down the road. Elk mewed and buffalo grunted somewhere off in the gray mist, but I didn't see them. I turned around at the waterfall and ran back to the campground, the slap of feet on the pavement keeping me company. The fog dissipated by the time I returned to the tent, and folks in the campground were beginning to stir. Early morning sun filtered through the trees, and it was kinda gorgeous, quiet, and peaceful. Except for that one huge camper bus that apparently needed to run its generator so the missus could use her microwave to heat a cup of tea. I was completely locked into the moral superiority of tent camping, and had no use for RVs in those days, and I was outraged at this affront to my sensibilities. That noise was simply out of place in such a cathedral.

Now of course, we use a travel trailer for most of our camping trips, and although I will still occasionally roll out my sleeping bag and pass the night on the ground when alone in the wild places, and it can get chilly enough to freeze up my water jug solid, I don’t inflict such fun on my wife. So when the mercury dips down well below freezing, we will sometimes fire up the heater in the trailer. And that thing drains the batteries quickly. Having a generator along would make the electric power far more reliable.

We were in the Mojave a couple of weeks ago, in our special secret spot than my friend Dan found for me. It is 4300 feet up the side of a desert ridge, just a flat spot at the end of a quarter mile of two track, but we can park the trailer there legally and not bother or be bothered by anyone else. Our spot is smack in the middle of a Joshua Tree forest, with some yucca and a few small cacti, and the dry wash is right there, and across it are higher peaks and to the right are sand dunes off in the distance, and on the rise to the west you can see the old Mojave Road zig-zagging up the slope, a remnant of a time when wagons crossed this desolate place. Trains pass by a mile downslope a few times every day, and we can listen to this, and other than an occasional airplane and the glow on the horizon from the lights of Vegas, we are untroubled by the works of man.

This place was a pause on the way home, a Friday night, Saturday and Saturday night to be frittered away before the long haul back to work. I expected to wander about the desert on foot, read some, listen to music, and nap when appropriate. Instead we watched clouds fill the sky and then settle down around our heads until our view closed down to a few meters. Then as the sun was setting on Friday night, along came the rain, and then the snow. The thermometer said 35 degrees, so I knew the snow wouldn’t stick, but I’ve been wrong about snow before.

Joshua trees and yucca were capped by snow. The dogs left small tracks in the snow that covered the ground. Saturday morning was a winter wonderland, despite what the thermometer claimed. More snow fell during the day. The temperature dropped, and by midnight it hit 24 degrees. What had melted earlier turned to ice. We snuggled in the bed, under the comforter, with two dogs tucked in between us.

We saved the batteries that day, cause the solar panel on the roof of the trailer was covered in snow, so we could not build back the charge. That meant not as much music, and careful how many lights are on. From experience, I know that it must get down near zero before the pipes start to freeze in the trailer, so I used the heater sparingly. But I could have used a generator that day.  And my camping ethics have mellowed to the point where I can see the legitimacy of such a thing.

A few days earlier, while wandering around a BLM campground in Arizona, I couldn’t help but notice the signs posted about. Turns out those nice light weight portable electric generators are pretty easy to steal. Three had grown legs and disappeared from that campground in one day the year before, and a few others on other days. Don’t know who was doing the stealing, but it wasn’t me. When I mentioned picking up a generator, I kinda meant buying one, but if I do I guess a good lock might be in order. Cause human nature being what it is, if you buy it, they will come. And they will steal it.