One Year RV'ing: Where in The World Is Bowie?

There, just as I decided to not judge at first glance, I did it again.

I asked myself, who in the world would live in a town like this? Who would even stop here or spend the night? I looked around and saw a dull, dusty, country western, wild and deserted place with traces from life in times long gone. Tonight will be the second night we spend in this very town. I’m forced to stop long enough to find something to appreciate about this town—its history, its current right of existence, or something. There must be something . . .

Never in a million years did we expect to experience the Wild West up close and personal, but planned to simply pass it by on our way to the golf coast of Texas.

Every adventure, even the most carefully planned one, has surprises for sure. This one turns out to be no different.

I am forced to feel how this feels for some reason or other, but thank God it is in the comfort of my own home, my motorhome. Looking out over the landscape, it’s eerie how it reminds us of Bloemhof in the Free State in South Africa where Hennie visited his grandmother when he was a growing up.

Yesterday morning we left Tucson, Arizona, heading for the first State Park stop in neighboring New Mexico. We soon realized it was no trip through the tropics, not that we expected that, but we definitely forgot how dry it could be and how big this country was. From the millions of people in the urban sprawl in and around Los Angeles only days ago, this was the epitome of a quantum leap.

Our last stop was Walmart in Benson—in my book certifiably the middle of nowhere. I struck up a conversation with one of the friendly Walmart employees (a great strategy for the full cultural experience of a new city) who told me that driving west from there was heading for the “middle of nowhere”. That was about the time I realized we were in for a treat or trouble, because in my world we were already there, in the middle of nowhere!

Sure enough, the Wild West awaited us with a fury of wind and dust storms that made driving our rig quite challenging, to say the least. Hennie was still getting used to driving this bus, but it felt more like we drifted rather than drove. The wind blew 30mph with gusts of 40mph that suddenly made our 12-ton vehicle feel like a leaf in the wind. We totally enjoyed the whole ride though, with Hennie concentrating like crazy to keep the bus on the road while I read out loud all the discussion forums on Google about driving a Winnebago in these conditions. You’d be surprised how much information on this topic is available on the internet. Who would have known? It is comforting that we are not the only ones wondering why this is not as easy as it seems.

A couple of days later . . .

Back to how we landed in Bowie, Arizona, population 449. Several hours’ drive from Tucson, fighting gale-force winds, we suddenly heard rattling on the roof that sounded like pieces of our bus were breaking off and blowing away in the wind. This is never a good sign, or sound, while driving, especially when you drive your home across the desert. Or any landscape, for that matter.

Hennie saw in his rear-view mirror something falling from the RV, which instantly made matters worse. We pulled over onto the very small shoulder on the side of the freeway to inspect the outside of the motorhome. At first glance, nothing seemed to be out of place or missing. What was the noise we heard? What did Hennie see flying from our bus? The fierce wind forced us back into the RV, so we slowly drove, or rather prayed our way to the next exit.

My jaw dropped at what I saw as we rolled into town. I judged. What is this place and who lives here? I lost concern for the RV falling apart for just a minute in the light of what I saw. I felt blown right into an alternative reality or maybe a scene in a movie—the part where the cowboys ride their horses into town in a billow of dust that slowly settles to reveal the town when they come to a stop.

It was just like that, in slow motion. Not only was it a bona fide country western, but it also seemed as if the inhabitants abruptly left 40 years ago and forgot to return. There were dilapidated buildings, dusty roads, long-abandoned houses and stores and, in my judgment, very little signs of life. Who in the world lives here? Maybe no one. In Los Angeles, 449 people are almost like no one. Yes, living in or near L.A. will do this to you.

We pulled over to the side of what could have been Main Street, I didn’t check for the name. I just stood there staring—looking for any remnants of life on the streets of long ago. Hennie climbed on the roof of the RV only to discover the passenger side of the fiberglass roof had come loose. Almost the whole length of the roof had ripped out of the groove that secured it. The whole roof could have blown off our coach! Thank God most of it was still intact, but the damage was pretty done, so we were officially stranded.

Lo and behold, this little town had one RV Park. We secured a spot with full hookups including Wi-Fi, which was not too shabby for small-town America. On day two we continued in vain to find the Wi-Fi, but at least we were safe.

No sooner had we pulled into our spot than another rig parked beside us to overnight on a long trip. Why did they choose this place? Well, maybe because God knew we needed a neighbor with some Guerilla tape, a ladder and a lending hand! Soon the black tape proudly crisscrossed the torn edges of the roof, but the better sight was that of a stranger holding a ladder for Hennie to meticulously add a temporary fix to the roof. It was so profound that I had to take a picture. Not sure what the ladder holder was thinking of the strange woman taking his picture, but I had my reasons. I needed proof. I’m from L.A.

FedEx was to deliver the proper material to fix the roof the next day. Only problem was, it was Friday. You guessed it, the Saturday delivery was merely a novel thought but turned out to be an opportunity to get to know some of the people in town. Wonderful people at that! The Monday FedEx delivery also allowed us to go to a church nearby. I wish you could have seen the face of that small church's usher when we rolled into the parking lot for Sunday's church service in our 34-foot diesel bus. Yep, we parked Winnie right there with all the other churchgoer’s cars just as if we drove a sedan. Oh, and the one side of the church had lots of large windows that looked out on the entrance to the parking lot. And yes, we arrived a tad late.

Boy, did I once again judge too quickly! What a neat little wild western town with kind people and a very interesting history. Fort Bowie was built in 1862 as a United States Army outpost after a series of engagements with the Chiricahua Apaches. It is named in honor of Colonel George Washington Bowie. Fort Bowie and the Apache Pass were the focal points of military operations for 30 years and lead to the surrender of Geronimo in 1886. It pushed out the Chiricahuas to Florida and Alabama. The fort was abandoned in 1896, and the town has since been reinvented several times but is most famously known in recent years as the birthplace of Rambo.

For real! Yes, the Rambo you know from the movies. Rambo may be fictitious, but Bowie definitely is not. I loved this place. It only seems dead and deserted by strangers, those who don't know any better.

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Pictures: Our visit in beautiful Bowie, Arizona