the great dental adventure of 2012, part 2

This post is part of a series. To read the first post, click here. To see more Dental Adventure photos, click here.

REQUIRES SOME EXPLANATION

I might as well go ahead and admit this up front: I don't have a single photo of Mexico to show you. Yeah, I know. I was there! How did I manage to not take any pictures at all?

We camped that first night in Yuma in the previously mentioned parking lot behind a casino. The next morning, I woke up in a terribly nervous state of mind. I'd just realized I might very well end up having a root canal today. A root canal. In a foreign country. As I steeled myself to walk over the border to meet my fate, I decided not to bring my camera. I wasn't in the mood to take pictures, and I doubted that hours of dental work would change that. 

To my surprise, the dentist said a root canal would be unnecessary; he could do what needed to be done with lots of rather intense drilling. He gave me a gigantic shot of novocaine that left the entire right side of my head feeling like it had frozen and fallen off, and proceeded to blast away at my molar with expertise. After that shot, I didn't feel a thing. I was still reeling from the dose of anaesthetic hours later when we walked back into Arizona and got into the RV. All I wanted was to lie down for a long, long time. This is my usual reaction to any kind of dental work. I don't fear pain when I'm there, not with the modern miracle of novocaine so close at hand, but I do find it overwhelming to lie in a chair with my mouth open while people shine lights on my teeth and pass sharp instruments to each other over my head. I was delighted to have avoided a root canal, which could have put me in that uncomfortable position for hours longer.

We planned to return in three days to have my new and amazingly inexpensive crown affixed to my molar; until then, we had time for a little journey. But this wasn't really the time for exploring Mexico. I wanted to see more of that country, but I also wanted to get away from anything that might remind me of dental work. At this point I tended to associate Mexico with giant stainless steel syringes and people discussing my cavities in Spanish. I was happy to walk back over the border into Arizona.

That's why I have no pictures of Mexico. Some people may be able to combine photo-tourism with getting their teeth drilled, but not this shutterbug. Mexico, I know you're beautiful and worthy of being photographed. I'll come back another time when there's no needles involved. 

SENATOR WASH RESERVOIR, SQUAW LAKE, AND THE IMPERIAL DAM

We had three days to kill in the Yuma area, so we decided to try out camping near the Imperial Dam on the Colorado River. We left directly from the parking lot next to the border and headed north on US 95, then west on Imperial Dam Road. Eventually we made it to Senator Wash Reservoir, a long-term camping area managed by the BLM. Getting there was tricky, as the roads were bumpy and confusing once we left 95. I lay in the back of the RV as Bev drove, marveling at how long it was taking for the nerves in my face to come back to life, while up front they wrestled with the GPS unit, trying to make sense of its directions.

By the time we arrived at the camping area and stopped in a level spot, the combination of novocaine and the RV's motion had left me nauseated. I wasn't very good company that night. But the next morning I woke up feeling much better. I rejoiced in my good luck: the threat of a root canal was gone, the hardest part of my dental work was done, and the feeling of being on vacation could commence again. Bev made pancakes for us, then Sundari and I walked down to the water.

Senator Wash Reservoir is a blue oasis surrounded by mountains and desert plants, one of eight lakes within 15 miles of Yuma. Bev told us that this was another of those areas where some people stay year-round in their RVs. We camped with the long-termers on a mesa above the reservoir, and the wind howled all night. I tried to imagine what living here would be like. The place was an interesting combination of remoteness and civilization; people got newspapers delivered here, but the distances between the vehicles felt enormous, especially after dark.

This reservoir is one of the holding tanks for water from the Colorado River intended for agricultural purposes. A sign at the top of the hill told us that campers who wish to sleep close to the edge of the lake must be careful, as water can be released into it by the Imperial Dam without warning, causing reservoir levels to rise rapidly. I was intrigued by this first encounter with the system of lakes and waterways that surround the Imperial Dam. Later, I learned that about 90% of the Colorado River's water is diverted into canals by this enormous dam, and that the water situation here is complex, the source of much political controversy. But I didn't know anything about that at the time. I was a clueless American, recovering from low-priced Mexican dental work, eating pancakes, hanging out by a reservoir to admire the colors and textures.    

That morning we decided to look for another camping spot, a less windy one. Just down the road we found Squaw Lake campground, which was close to the waters of another lake and slightly more protected from nighttime desert gales. Here it would be possible for me to spend the night in the Tent Cot for the first time in several days. I'd wanted to, the night before, but the winds on the mesa above Senator Wash Reservoir had seemed strong enough to blow my Tent Cot away and I hadn't even tried to set it up. It felt like endless ages had passed since I last slept in my own space.

Squaw Lake campground turned out to be a haven for the weary dental adventurer. Like the neighboring Senator Wash Reservoir, it's on the backwaters of the Colorado River, just above the Imperial Dam. It's a popular summer and weekend recreation spot for people from many miles around. We didn't have the place to ourselves, but I didn't mind, because most people I saw and talked to seemed happy to be here. Their pleasure was contagious. I was discovering the mellow river vibe, the desert equivalent of the laidback beach vibe I'd grown familiar with Santa Cruz. After all my dental anxiety and constant travel, this encounter with a new vacation subculture was just what I needed to make me relax. 

Almost everyone at Squaw Lake had a boat of some kind. You can reach the Colorado River from these shores, and I envied those who had the option of going out on the water to explore. People spent whole days doing this, for a week or more at a time, as several campers told me. I saw families leave in the morning with fishing gear and return to eat their catch that night. I saw people come and go througout the day on jet skis. Some groups took canoes, some took kayaks, and some had wide, flat-looking launches. At night I walked around with Sundari and we looked at people's boats moored at the water's edge. We were impressed with the range of watercraft we saw, and discussed our theories about the kind of people who rode in each vehicle. Being out on the water was obviously the default activity in this region for people with time on their hands.

And what did we do with the time on our hands, since we lacked the means to go out on the water like the river rats around us? We hiked up and down the desert hills above the water, getting a bit lost when the trail disappeared from view. I collected rocks and photos and many layers of dust and sweat. Back in the RV, we sat at the dinette table and made collages using materials we'd purchased at thrift stores in Yuma. We ate food and read books and spied on our neighbors, who couldn't see us through the tinted glass of our windows. Sundari went for a swim; I couldn't, because I'd forgotten my swimsuit. I didn't mind not being able to swim. It was satisfying just to be far from home and free to be lazy, at this place where the desert met the water.

I could have happily spent another few weeks at Squaw Lake, though at some point I would've needed to find somebody to take me out on their boat. That all-day floating itinerary seemed like a lot of fun, and I found myself idly wondering about the passageways around all those little palm tree islands to the Colorado River. But during my three days there, I was content to putter around near the campground, soaking in the dazzling sunlight and mindlessly absorbing the contrast between the hot, dry hills and the blue lake. My brain began to feel sort of soft and pliable, the way it does whenever I'm in an unfamiliar place and put away my task list. It was especially relaxing because we weren't in a national park or near anything supremely photo-worthy. The place was beautiful enough to make it pleasant to be there, but not so stunning that I became frantic and ran around with my camera all day.     

UNEXPECTED VISITORS

In the evening came a surprise: a herd of burros wandered through our camp. I grabbed my camera and followed them up a hill. One of the burros seemed to be the protector of the herd, and he (or she) breathed heavily through his nostrils and stamped the ground with his hoof whenever I got close. I had never seen a wild burro before, and was charmed by these adorable marauders. I kept following them at a distance, taking pictures, sometimes getting close enough again to trigger that snorting noise, which always made me laugh. As I watched them, I wondered: where did they come from? Was it normal to see donkeys hanging around a campground? 

Yes, I learned later, such sightings are definitely normal. With over 6,000 wild burros and over 30,000 wild horses wandering on BLM land in the western US, animals like these are a common sight in this area. Burros were originally brought to the lower Colorado River valley by gold miners in 1858, where they did all the hauling of water, tools, supplies, and ore. For the next few decades, they were a crucial part of gold mining operations, until the ore started to run out and mining camps shut down. Burros were then turned loose in the hills by prospectors, where they adapted brilliantly to the desert conditions. Their numbers grew, and still grow, at an alarming rate; a herd can double in size in a period of four years. 

Their pervasiveness is considered an environmental problem, because their heavy bodies trample delicate native plants and their activities muddy the springs that support bighorn sheep. When they get too near human habitations, they tend to destroy fences and gardens. As burros became a nuisance throughout the twentieth century, people began harvesting them for commercial purposes (like making pet food!). Now they're protected by the government from such practices. Current approaches to burro population management include gathering them and offering them to people for adoption, but their numbers remain much higher than what the land can support without environmental damage. Management of the burro problem is a contentious issue in much of the western US. 

Just like a few days before at the Senator Wash Reservoir, I was unaware of the drama surrounding the thing I was looking at. I kept stalking the burros up the hill. They made good companions that evening, despite their tendency to threaten me with heavy breathing. The end of the day was peaceful, warm and sweet as we reached the top of the hill together. I watched them descend the other side until they were no longer visible. Then I turned my attention to another shockingly pretty desert sunset.

BACK TO DENTISTVILLE

One night of deep, blissful sleep and one glorious sunrise later, it was time to leave Squaw Lake behind and go back to Mexico for the attachment of a porcelain crown to a sadly whittled-down molar. We took a different course this time, passing peanut farms and date groves. The area around Yuma is the world's largest producer of Medjool dates. We stopped at one date grove to try their date shakes, which weren't very good. Too much gloopy vanilla ice cream. I decided I could make a better date shake myself, maybe with ice cream of the coconut variety. But I did score a couple of postcards at that store to use in a future collage, including one depicting the legendary and mysterious jackalope, who only breeds during winter electrical storms and can convincingly imitate the human voice.  

Soon we were back at the parking lot and ready to walk across the border again. My final day of dentistry was far shorter this time, no novocaine involved in the process of cementing a chunk of material into my mouth. I left feeling awkward as my tongue adjusted to constantly touching this new addition to my tooth. I would later dream of my crown falling out, along with multiple healthy teeth, but none of that happened in waking life. My Mexican dental experiment had been a success, and we were now free to spend the rest of our vacation having fun. For the next few weeks, though, I chewed my food very carefully.