The Mystery of the Rotten Smell in the Car

October 20-22, 2025

We decided to spend a couple extra days in Yuma. The first of those days was a “play day” mixed with a few chores. We biked 18 miles along the Yuma Canal Path, then made a short side detour to the Arizona Territorial Prison. Fascinating place! Fun fact: several Mormon polygamists served time there in the late 1800s. Apparently, they were model prisoners among the murderers and thieves—so good, in fact, that they held leadership positions. (Even in prison, Mormons run the meeting.) 

After our history fix, we changed the oil in our car. Well, George did. He didn’t have a lift or jacks, so he MacGyvered the front wheels up onto a berm at our campsite so he could get underneath to do the job. Then we tackled a plumbing leak. The water pump kept turning on when we weren’t using water—never a good sign. Sure enough, water was dripping out of the underside of the trailer. I tore apart the bed, found the leak, consulted the manual, identified the part, and then—like any smart woman—let George fix it. Teamwork!

And speaking of detective work, I also solved The Mystery of the Rotten Smell in the Car. Ever since we left Ventura, something reeked. Turns out George had put his sea urchin souvenir from the Channel Islands in a paper barf bag the boat crew had given us. Then he left it to ferment in 90-degree heat, which translates to 150 degrees in a car. I found it. I opened it. I regretted it immediately.

We temporarily placed the poor creature near a bush a ways away from camp, but it still stank up the area. Goerge's hope was that ants would clean it out and I'd allow it back in the car. Thankfully, he forgot about it and drove off, leaving the urchin behind. Someday, an RVer will stumble across it and wonder, How on earth did a sea urchin end up in the middle of the Arizona desert?

The next day was a "work day." Not office work—but rather the glamorous RV chores: dump station, fresh water, laundry. Apparently Yuma water is no good, so the locals have little vending machines everywhere that sell “salt-free” water by the gallon. Unfortunately, their hoses didn’t fit our RV, so we hit the road in search of a fill-up.

We made a pit stop in Dateland (yes, that’s a real place) for their famous date shakes. I couldn’t really taste the dates—it just tasted like a regular shake. Aapparently there are a variety of dates. Who knew? I thought “Medjool” was the only kind. We bought Honey and Halawi dates. They tasted exactly the same to me. A date’s a date.

That night we camped outside Phoenix at Painted Rock Petroglyph Campground, a huge, empty campground that once had a lake for campers to play on back when the reservoir still existed. We biked to see the petroglyphs as the sun set. George was ahead of me (as usual), and on the way back, I got stopped by a group of friendly motorcyclists who wanted to hear about our travels. We chatted for quite a while. Meanwhile, the desert got darker. And darker.

When I finally biked back, George was out searching for me. Turns out he’d panicked—circling the campground twice in the car, asking the bikers if they’d seen me, and imagining every Dateline scenario possible. By the time he returned to find me safely at camp, he was furious and relieved in equal measure—the classic “parent whose kid just wandered off in Costco” combo. I didn’t help the situation by asking, “Were you worried we’d be one of those Facebook stories about a wife disappearing without a trace?” He didn’t laugh.

That night, lightning lit up the sky without a drop of rain. The bugs came out like it was their Super Bowl. We’d left the flagpole up, and I was convinced it was a lightning rod. George insisted we’d be fine. At 3:30 a.m., after enough of my “gentle persuasion,” he finally got up and took it down—mostly to shut me up. I would have done it myself, but I don't have the height to reach it. 

The next morning, we took a short bike ride to the “ghost reservoir,” which now consists of a dry lakebed and a dam that does nothing. The road was closed at the dam. We tried to persuade the Army Corps of Engineers guy to let us ride over the dam. We asked nicely, but he didn’t bite. Still, it never hurts to try!

After that, we packed up and drove toward Phoenix to meet up with our favorite Arizona in-laws-for-life (Alan's in-laws) for dinner. They graciously let us camp beside their house and plug in to their electricity since it was 90 degrees. Little did they know… this was just the beginning of a very long stay. But more on that later.