I took my house in to have the axles aligned today, and I’m glad I did. The two were fighting each other going down the road, one bearing left, the other right, which likely goes a long ways to explain the weird tire wear I’ve had.
The tech found a connector had separated on one side of my brakes, so I’ve got all wheels braking now. That’s good.
So now I’m at Snider Hill, or what I usually call San Joaquin Road. A few minutes after I arrived the BLM Police stopped by to see if I knew the rules. The place is very much cleaner and there are no season-long campers here. In eight years of staying here, I’ve never seen the BLM even acknowledge it’s existence, much less actually enforce the rules.
Because I’ve spent so much time here, and have seen just about everything imaginable here, I’m quite fond of the place. Pretty views, a resident great-horned owl, and my friends the coyotes and javelinas. Oh, and a boat-load of memories of past stays with my friends; those stories are still going around.
Having actual laws laid down on this little 60-acre spot I guess I can handle.