Playing in Polson

Fletcher Webster Brown, III, as Jay always calls him, is a Coast Guard, flying days friend of Jay’s.  They also served at Coast Guard headquarters together in the early 1980s and from then until the travelers’ visit in August, 2011 they had gotten together only one other time.  Fletcher moved to Montana in the mid-1990s and built a beautiful, two-story log home on a five-acre plot overlooking the town of Polson.  To the north is the Flathead Lake, to the east, the 9,000 foot high Mission Mountain Range and the rolling, grass covered terrain to the south and west belong to the Flathead Indian Reservation.   When the house was built, Fletcher conveniently created a circular driveway complete with an adjacent, large square parking space for his ATVs and other toys and was a perfect place for Chris and Jay to park Sonny for their week-long stay.

Yan Can Cook is the name of an Asian cooking show that used to air on PBS but the name certainly applied to the culinary skills of Fletcher’s wife, Yan.  The afternoon of the visitors’ arrival she created a lunch of three different vegetable stir-fries served over bowls of rice.  It was all so yummy that Chris and Jay waddled from the table regretting the volume they’d consumed but still craving more of the delicious flavors.  It was a heavy mid-day meal compared to the lightness of their daily fruit smoothie lunches.  The remainder of the week was filled with more tasty experiences and Chris hung out in the kitchen more than once to observe and learn.

Fletcher wasted no time in exposing his guests to the outdoor pleasures of his Montana lifestyle.  The next day everyone piled into his truck and, raft in tow, headed north toward Glacier National Park and a rocky put-in location to launch the vessel on a fork of the Flathead River. 

Yan (left) and Jay (center) stand by while Fletcher prepares the raft for launch.

The day was brilliantly cloudless, windless and warm which compensated for the frigidly cold glacial water.    A brief stop, so Fletcher could give his fly rod a workout, enabled Chris and Jay to step out of the raft and experience exactly how cold the water was.  Smooth, rounded rocks from small pebbles to the size of a man’s hand lined the shallow cove and seldom could the travelers resist seeking out especially unique and beautiful stones to add to their growing collection.  But Chris’ toes could only tolerate the icy liquid a few moments before they numbed and needed thawing from the warmth of the bright orb above.  After a few freeze/thaw cycles, an assortment of rocks was collected, judged worthy or not and retained or discarded, by the time Fletch tired of casting, and they shoved off to complete their lazy, tranquil float.

 

It just doesn’t get much better than this.

In some sections of the river the water was a luminescent aqua green and different than any color, except the waters of the Caribbean Sea, Jay or Chris had ever seen.   They learned that the water contains tiny bits of rock and minerals called “rock flour” which is created by the grinding action of glaciers and suspended in the melted water that cascades into the rivers below.  The rock particles refract the green spectrum of the sun’s light so it appears green.   The glacial action on the surrounding mountains was different than traditional snow melt on other peaks which did not produce the same colorful water.

The beautiful, green glacial water.

 

A few days later Fletcher introduced his guests to ATVing.  He had two of the machines and took everyone to the golden hills of the Reservation on the west side of the Lake where seldom used, dirt, back roads laced across the massive mounds covered in late summer’s grassy harvest. 

The rolling foothills of the Salish Mountains.

 

As a change from hiking, Jay and Chris had a good time on the noisy machines as they bumped along the deserted roads far enough behind Fletcher and Yan to not eat their dust.  They tooled into a wooded hollow, where a road ended, stopped for a quick snack and some target practice.  Unlike the PC/gun fearing Eastern States, from which Chris and Jay came, Montana is very firearm friendly and practicing ones skills in remote locations is common place.   They took turns aiming at the exposed roots of a fallen tree and cheered when a piece broke away.

Chris practicing her firearm skills.

Chris told her host about a low fuel light on her machine and Fletcher realized he should have given the gas tank more than a cursory glance when he topped his up at the gas station in Polson.  They headed back the way they came and, when the gauge dropped below a comfortable level, decided to stop and try to siphon some gas from one machine to the other.   They sacrificed the hose from Chris’ Camelbak and Fletcher’s quart-sized water bottle to complete the task and carried on with almost equal amounts of fuel in each ATV.

Fletcher and Yan.

Up and down more mounds and through chest-high purple and yellow blossoms they determined a wrong turn had been made and backtracking was in order.   Doubling back to the siphoning spot and beyond they found the turn they’d missed then putted through familiar surroundings to the truck and home to another sumptuous meal.

No visit to a Montana resident would be complete without a mountain hike.  Fletcher took everyone, including his two dogs, Zena and Gunner, on a short hike that led to another idyllic mountain lake that, to Jay’s relief, was practically mosquito free thanks to the thousands of huge dragonflies who called the  area home.  The lake fed a stream whose sparkling waters cascaded over and around moss covered rocks littering the route as the water plunged past ancient cedars and delicate woodland flowers to the valley floor.   

Jay and Chris at another beautiful mountain lake.

Precious, streamside, woodland flowers.

The Flathead Indian Reservation is home to the National Bison Range and, with an ample amount of the afternoon remaining, they decided it was worth a visit.  About four hundred bison wander the 29 square miles of rolling hills they call home. 

An antler mound near the Visitor Center.

Visitors primarily view them via the one-way, nineteen mile long Red Sleep Mountain Drive which zigzags up a central mountain and skirts the north side of the Refuge.  Although the landscape was beautiful, it wasn’t until the last couple of miles that they spied the herd.  Small groups of the magnificent beasts clustered together along the banks of the lone river that traversed the northern boundary of the Range and, to the motorists, most were too far away and appeared to be large, brown lumps contrasting against golden grasses. 

One lone bison near the river’s edge.

Chris and Jay had seen their share of the beasts at Yellowstone so, the distance and lack of expected numbers of bison didn’t bother them.  But, the day was not lost of them as they truly enjoyed the drive, viewing the other wildlife on the Range and the fantastic vistas of the valley and mountains which surrounded them. 

A view of the Range from Red Sleep Mountain Drive.

The Fletcher Brown RV Park was, at the sum of $1 per week, one of the least expensive his guests had encountered.  But they figured with low pressure, gravity fed water and the 20 amp house socket, that couldn’t power the RV’s microwave, hindering some of their daily luxuries, it was appropriately priced.  Besides, they were well fed, given free outdoor entertainment and twice treated to massive scoops of delectable ice cream at the local parlor.  All-in-all it was one of the best deals and most enjoyable visits with friends so far!

The Fletcher Brown RV Park.  He owns an Airstream trailer.

At the end of their fun-filled week Glacier National Park beckoned.  Jay paid his dollar and with hugs and fond farewells, they headed up the east side of Flathead Lake to the northernmost destination of their summer.

Moseying Through Montana

When Chris had planned their 2011 travels north she was smart enough to schedule down time after major photography stops and six days at Bozeman, Montana was just what they needed after all the driving at Yellowstone.   The RV Park where they stayed packed the transient guests into shade less, graveled sites like sardines and was sandwiched between the interstate on one side and very active train tracks on the other; complete with a nearby intersection which required passing locomotives to blow the long, short, long air horns at their approach.   Chris and Jay never knew what to expect when they arrived at a new Park and pondered adding “How close are you to train tracks?” to the list of questions they normally ask about price, cell service, and hook-up facilities when making reservations.

When checking into the Park on Friday, July 29^th, they were told about a Sunday morning Farmers’ Market held at the Bozeman Fairgrounds.  Tired of the same old breakfast fare, Chris suggested they go out for a Sunday morning breakfast and attend the Farmers Market thinking it would give them a flavor of the area.

After so many weeks of living close to the earth and hiking Chris decided it was time to get gussied up for their trip into “the city”.  Hair was styled, makeup was applied, “going out” attire was selected and donned and she felt like a person she had known before but had somehow lost track of.   With map in hand, complete with locations of eating establishments graciously noted by the Park owners, the visitors eagerly headed into town for a welcome break from computers and long days of driving. 

They found the college town of Bozeman held more promise than the RV Park.  Late eighteen hundred style vintage brick buildings lined the broad, downtown Main Street echoing its early roots and clean, roomy, sidewalks bordered prosperous shops, offices and cafés.  They hopped out of Big Red and eagerly headed toward the location of several orange dots on the map signifying restaurants serving scrumptious breakfast fare.

They walked a few blocks and didn’t find the one they sought, so they crossed the street and doubled back seeking an alternative option.  Nothing seemed appealing so, thinking they had somehow missed the establishment, they crossed the street again and slowly scanned the storefronts and signs they’d previously passed.  Still no café.  Thinking the establishment had gone out of business, perhaps unbeknownst to the Park owner, they again crossed the street in hopes of finding something that would satisfy their growling tummies. 

After reading the menu in the window of a small coffee shop and not finding what they felt would satisfy their cravings, they turned to continue down the street when a woman, sitting at the establishment’s lone outdoor table with her husband, asked if she could help them find something.  Jay explained their quest and, in an instant, discovered the orange dot on the map was on the wrong block.  The discussion of directions turned into where each party was from, then why each was there, to introductions and exchanging cards with contact information.  Their new friends, Paula Milano and Eric Nielsen, then walked them far enough to see the café’s sign and they vowed to get together before leaving at the end of the week.

The meal at Main Street Over Easy did not disappoint and in fact exceeded Jay and Chris’ expectations of breakfast fare in a small western town.  But the delay in finding it, plus the time spent eating, left only an hour to take in the Farmers’ Market. 

Compared to the Fairgrounds near Annapolis and Baltimore, Bozeman’s was quite small.  And due to the minute percentage of produce stands vs. craft vendors, it seemed to Chris that it should be called a flea market or craft fair rather than a Farmers’ Market; but they found the fresh veggies she wanted and then some.   To Chris it was an opportunity to get some unique Christmas gifts.  To Jay it was about PIE!!  They sought and they scored!

After two weeks without a cell signal hundreds of e-mails needed attention, bills needed to be paid, laundry had to be washed and in general, the travelers enjoyed not needing to drive anywhere except to re-provision their depleted supplies.   Dinner with Paula and Eric was their only commitment and they all enjoyed it thoroughly.

A view of the Madison Mountain Range from Peets Hill/Burke Park in Bozeman.

 

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In May of 2010 Chris corresponded with a former computer client, turned friend, about their plans to tour Montana that year.  (If you’ve been following the blog you know those plans were delayed until 2011.)   Chris’ friend knew a couple that lived in Deer Lodge, MT and suggested that they get together when they passed through the area on the way to Glacier National Park.  Several e-mails later an invitation to visit was extended by the Deer Lodge residents, Irene and Bill Fries (pronounced frees).   Not wanting to be an imposition on people they’d never met, and not knowing how they might get along, Chris arranged to stay only through a weekend.   On Friday, August 5^th Jay maneuvered Sonny onto a level area of their front lawn while trying not to be distracted by the view across the valley of the majestic Flint Creek mountain range and the 10,000 foot Mt. Powell.  Irene and Bill were gracious hosts and the two couples found much in common to discuss and do. 

A breathtakingly beautiful sunset over the Flint Creek Range.

Irene is an avid hiker, but long treks do not agree with Bill’s extremities which keep him home working on improvements or woodworking projects.   Elated that Chris and Jay shared her outdoor interest, the three of them planned to hike the next day.   She took them to a trail that led to the Barker Lakes – one lower, the other upper.   The trail to the lower lake took them through open fields with spectacular views of the surrounding peaks, Lodgepole Pine forests and rock strewn meadows dotted with stunted trees but brimming with wildflowers of every color amongst  the lush, tall, vibrant  green grasses which are nourished by the turbulent lake-fed stream running parallel to the path. 

A patch of wildflowers along the trail.

After several miles they crested a hill and before them lay a mountain paradise.  Gray peaks, dotted with tenacious patches of snow, soared above a deep green skirt of mature pine and fir and wrapped around the lake like a protective, 4,000 foot high horseshoe.  The hikers longed to build a cozy cabin on the shore and live out the rest of their days in quiet, stress-free solitude.      

Chris and Jay at Lower Barker Lake.

Irene had a magazine article that explained how to get to the upper lake and Chris, more than Jay, was eager to help her find it.  The writer explained that trees with patches of bark removed were the trail markers to look for.  The hikers set out on a faint trail around the rim of the lake and turned inland where they thought the directions indicated.  At this point there was no trail but they pressed through rough, dead limbs and over errant rocks and rotting logs trying to find the bare spots on trees that would mark their way.  The directions indicated crossing a 100 foot wide rock slide and that a tree with a bare patch was visible on the other side.  Chris and Irene left Jay, who was tiring of the exercise, and scaled an almost vertical slope littered with boulders the size of a body ball to reach a level area that they thought might lead them to the lake; and maybe even spy one of the bare trail markers.  Nothing was sighted but dark storm clouds above the mountain peaks heading their way. 

Irene descending the rock slide.

Feeling their efforts were in vain, and much to Jay’s relief, they all trekked down to the lake and arrived under the shelter of some dense evergreens just as the heavens opened complete with bolts of lightning and rolling claps of thunder.   It was the Christening of Chris and Jay’s ponchos that they so dutifully carted around with them on every hike and Irene covered up with a beach blanket she kept in her pack.

The sky cleared and they made it back to the car unscathed but disappointed they’d not located the upper lake.  A search on Google maps revealed that it was on the other side of the mountain to the left of the lake and one had to skirt around the base of it to get to the other side.   If three, intelligent people couldn’t locate the elusive body of water, they determined that the article’s directions were misleading and the map grossly inaccurate.

The next day Bill joined them to spend the afternoon at the Grant-Kohrs Ranch National Historic Site located in Deer Lodge.  All that remains of one of the largest Montana cattle ranches is 1,600 acres and 80 historic structures originally used by founder, Johnny Grant, and subsequent owner, Conrad Kohrs, from the 1850s well into the 20^th century.  In the Ranch’s heyday 50,000 head of cattle roamed over 10 million acres of western Montana, Wyoming, Colorado and Canada.   The visitors toured the monstrous home, learned about the role of the chuck wagon on cattle drives and even practiced throwing a lasso around a makeshift wooden horse. 

A Ranch Volunteer, who makes a stiff cup of coffee, stands next to the Chuckwagon.

Bill Fries watches Jay practice his lassoing skills.

The new friends all agreed that their time together was too short and Chris and Jay promised to spend more time when they next passed through the area.  On Monday, August 8^th they departed for a four-day layover at Missoula, a few hours to the northwest.

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Missoula was a much larger town than they had expected but Jay took advantage of the plethora of large, chain stores to purchase some items that he had coveted for some time.  When Chris is photographing he usually takes along a magazine to read and pass the time.  He’d finished so many over the last year that he was running out of the stockpile of back issues he’d accumulated and wanted to begin reading novels, but didn’t want to carry the weight.  An e-reader seemed to be the logical solution and he finally found one that suited his needs and price range in Missoula.  He also yearned for a cell signal booster since the signals, in the remote areas where they camped, often were less than three bars resulting in dropped calls and making internet usage painfully slow.  He was ecstatic to find one and couldn’t wait to get it installed.

Despite the nearby train, the large, grassy sites and profusion of flowers in manicured beds, throughout the RV Park, made Chris and Jay think that it was one of the prettiest in which they had stayed.  They learned that their neighbors, Gerry and Dee Vachon, agreed when they got together one night after dinner.   The spacious lawns between the sites were home to large shade trees and created an inviting location for several hours of casual conversation.  After dusk the temperatures chilled so they moved inside - just before the sprinklers came on.  Gerry and Dee stayed only one night and an Oriental family took the site the next day.  They were still sitting outside at the picnic table after dinner when Chris and Jay heard their surprised but playful screams when the sprinklers unexpectedly doused them.  Smiles creased the listener’s faces. 

Even though they thought the scheduled down time would enable them to complete long put-off projects, it was not the case but they were looking forward to their visit in Polson with Jay’s old Coast Guard buddy, Fletcher Brown and his new wife Yan Zi, whom he had met on a visit to China seven years before.  The drive from Missoula to Polson was another short day and they arrived at Fletcher’s Montana country home, overlooking the thirty mile-long Flathead River and the quaint town of Polson, the afternoon of Friday, August 12^th .

Recovery in Tucson

The Davis-Monthan Air Force Base RV campground, in Tucson, did not take reservations and was a popular destination for the Snowbirds that wintered there.  In the cooler months campers may have to wait in the overflow area, where there are no hookups for water, electricity or sewage, for a week or more for a site to become available.  By mid-March, the winter residents were beginning to head home and within two days those awaiting a site were able to move in.   Jay’s back was in good enough shape to allow him to drive from Tombstone to Tucson and they arrived on Thursday, March 17^th, pulled into the overflow area and waited their turn.

An ART (Active Release Technique) practitioner was located and an appointment was made for the following morning.  With Chris’s assistance, and taking miniscule baby steps, Jay hobbled into the office and waited his turn.  It was then that they discovered the ART practitioner was not a Chiropractor but a Physical Therapist.  The tiny, but mighty young lady worked him over but did not adjust his whacked out skeleton and he left, not only poorer but in just as much pain has he had arrived and efforts to secure an appointment with a local Chiropractor were futile.  Jay returned home went to bed and stayed there through the weekend.  Occasional forays to the “facilities” were accomplished by slithering on his stomach until his feet, then his knees, touched the floor and crawling on all fours until he reached the vanity counter.  With Chris’ assistance (which then caused strain on her back) he was able to push himself upright and, clinging to walls and door jams, shuffle into the bathroom and relieve himself.  Chris would have videotaped the painful but comical effort to share with their readers, but thought some might be offended by his lack of attire.

Saturday morning came and Chris trundled up to the campground office, selected a site and moved the RV out of overflow.  Jay felt so helpless lying in bed while Chris maneuvered Big Red and hooked up Sonny, raised the front and back stabilizing legs, secured the stairs and drove to their new digs.  Fortunately it was a pull-through site and, with a neighbor’s assistance to make sure she didn’t hit vehicles and utilities, within moments she was in position, connecting electric, water and sewer, bumping out the slides and setting up the household comforts inside.  

The weekend dragged as Chris searched the internet for treatments she could administer to her ailing spouse and attended to the nursing duties required to keep Jay fed, warm, cool, relieved, washed and entertained.  Fortunately a Saturday night dinner invitation from her cousins Helen Nazzaro and Janet, Corey afforded a welcome break.

Helen was Chris’ mother’s first cousin and Janet is Helen’s daughter and visiting with them was the primary reason for stopping in Tucson.  Janet has spent untold hours researching the Clark/Harmon genealogy for the last several decades and over Chris’ three week stay they shared generations of family photos (including tin types of relatives Chris had never heard of), military records, documents and letters.  Chris left a legal sized accordion folder stuffed full of family records for Janet to digest over the next six months, since her attention would be on traveling and photographing and not on family research.

Janet (left) and Helen (right) after our dinner at the Country Club.

Helen and Janet referred Jay to a Chiropractor they used and after a few treatments he was ambulatory and eager to re-engage in life, albeit at a slower pace than normal.  Janet chauffeured them to the Arizona-Sonora Desert Museum located over a mountain to the west of Tucson.  The term museum to describe the attraction was a bit of a stretch for Chris and Jay to accept as they associate the term with brick and mortar structures.  The museum is open desert covering 100 acres with broad paths winding throughout that take you past 1,200 kinds of plants and animal exhibits.  Tucked into the hillsides are enclosures containing more than 300 animal species including mountain lions, bobcats, prairie dogs and Gila monsters.  One of their favorite stops was the hummingbird house where dozens of the tiny birds zipped past their heads building nests and feeding their young. 

A view of the Desert Museum terrain with valley and mountains in the distance.

An exciting event they attended was a Raptor Free Flight Demonstration of a family of Harris’ Hawks.  That day the trainers released five birds and the audience learned that they live and hunt together as a family in groups of three to seven.  They soared above then swooped so close that Chris felt the wind from the beat of a wing as one flew through the crowd then perched atop a Saguaro cactus.

A trainer with one of the hawks.

Another outing was to the Mission San Xavier del Bac , an active church constructed in the late 1700s by Franciscan missionaries with money borrowed from a local rancher.  It is beautifully restored inside and out and was designated a National Historic Landmark in 1963.  The intricate carvings, paintings, frescoes and statues in the alter areas must have been designed to wow the Indians whom the missionaries were there to convert. 

A view from the back of the church of the ornately carved and painted altar

 and frescos on the ceiling.

Janet insisted that a visit to Tucson wasn’t complete without lunch at the Tohono Chul Park Tea Room – one of her favorite places.  Tohono Chul Park is recognized as one of the great botanical gardens of the world and is located on 37 acres in the northwestern section of Tucson.  It is home to a plethora of reptiles, birds, and every kind of desert plant known to the area.  The park is a popular location for weddings, art exhibits and talks of all types.  After an enjoyable lunch Jay bought a zebra succulent plant from the greenhouse to replace one that died months before and he returned home, literally, a happy camper.

Chris and Jay at the Tohono Chul Park.

Jay is holding his new Zebra succulent plant that he bought to replace one that died.

The travelers didn’t do half of what they’d planned during their stay since every other morning was obligated to chiropractic appointments but in a way it was relaxing and forced them to slow their pace and “smell the cactus flowers” that were just beginning to bloom.  A week-long stop in Phoenix was next on the itinerary and they knew that after that the main focus would be photographing for the rest of the summer beginning with Sedona, the Jewel of Arizona.

Some of the cactus that were blooming when they left Tucson.

Backwhacked in Tombstone

Tombstone, Arizona.  Oh, the images of the Old West those two words conjure up in the American psyche: The Earp brothers, O.K. Corral and the trials of a booming, silver mining town in the 1880s combine to create the legend of “The town too tough to die”.

The town was named by Edward Schieffelin, a scout for the soldiers at Fort Huachuca in the 1870s, who, in his free time, scoured the mountains of the southeast Arizona Territory seeking his fortune.  A soldier told him that the only stone he would find was his tombstone.  But Schieffelin was one of the lucky ones.  When he located the richest silver vein in the area, Tombstone was born.

Photo of Tombstone’s founder, Edward Schieffelin,

taken by famous western photographer, C. S. Fly.

Four blocks of the original town have been beautifully preserved and visitors can dine in Big Nose Kate’s Saloon, originally owned and named for Doc Holliday’s girlfriend, or the just as famous Crystal Palace.  Both boast massive, dark, 19^th century bars original to the structures.  A variety of shops occupy the town’s buildings where one could walk in a city-slicker and walk out bedecked top to bottom in western garb from a wide-brimmed Stetson and ornately designed fist-sized silver belt buckle to sturdy, hand tooled leather boots.  Other stores sold jewelry of all styles but predominantly silver and turquoise creations.  You could don a dance hall dress or cowboy gear to have a vintage style portrait taken and cool down in the heat of the day with an ice cream cone.  The Tombstone Epitaph newspaper was founded in 1880 and continues to print a monthly edition making it the National Newspaper of the Old West.

Big Nose Kate’s Saloon.

The bar at the Crystal Palace Saloon.

A stagecoach, drawn by a pair of complacent horses, ambled through the streets while the western attired guide drawled on about the town’s history in a twangy country accent.

Chris and Jay opted to learn Tombstone’s history from the museum located at the old Tombstone Courthouse State Historic Park.   Displays explained the history of the Apache Indians in the Territory, successful and failed negotiations between them and the whites, the Earp brothers and the real story of the gunfight at the O.K. Corral, about assaying silver from the mines, the Chinese’s role in the populations, and the actual, untouched court room from its mining heyday.  Chris marveled at the rich brown tone fabric and tiny waistline of a schoolmarm’s dress. 

The gallows adjacent to the Courthouse.

Actors depicting the Earp brothers and their friend, Doc Holliday, roamed the streets posing for pictures with visitors and interacting with their nemeses the Clantons and the McLaurys, cowboys that were suspected of robbing stagecoaches and poaching cattle.  As the street conflicts between the actors increased an ever larger crowd gathered around them and they carried the act through the town and into the O.K. Corral where the legendary confrontation was played out on a ground-level, outdoor stage just a few paces from the actual gunfight site.

The faceoff at the O.K. Corral.

During the previous week, Jay’s back had gradually become more painful to the point of rendering him bedridden the first two days of their stay.  He rallied the afternoon of the third day just in time to see the gunfight and he and Chris got front row seats for the show as it would have been impossible for him to climb the bleacher seats that lined one whole wall of the enclosure. 

The show lasted about half an hour and told the story, mainly from the Clanton’s and McLaury’s side, of what led up to the thirty second gunfight, on the afternoon of October 26, 1881, that left three of the cowboys dead and wounded Doc Holliday and Virgil and Morgan Earp.  Debate, as to exactly what happened and why, continues to this day and the event has been played out in numerous novels and movies since it was first publicized in Stuart Lake’s biography of Wyatt Earp in 1931.

Due to Jay’s back pain, they never got to Boothill Graveyard, Tombstone’s cemetery.  They were told it is a must-see destination and that the epitaphs on many of the headstones are witty and memorable so they decided it was an excuse to make a return trip next year. 

Not wanting Jay’s back problems to escalate, Chris did the lion’s share of the preparations Jay would normally do to move the RV but by the end of the two hour drive to Tucson on Thursday, March 17th he could hardly walk and to bed he went until they could see a chiropractor the following Monday.