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We don’t know how the racers in Baja stay on the
road, because if we drove 30 miles per hour we
started to ski, sliding from one side to the other.
As we moved along we became better acquainted
with the trail. In valleys the dust would be as
deep as 8 to 10 inches. We prepared ourselves
for it, keeping the wheels rolling and hoping that
a wash wouldn’t be too wide or long.
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Some of the hills were longer, steeper and
narrower than we would have hoped.
Occasionally we saw rusted remains of trucks and
autos that either slipped off the hillside or were
driven over the side. These hills never seemed to
end. We’d come to a crest and there would be
another higher level further up the road.
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It was a long way and we didn’t think too much
about it until the day grew longer and hotter. It
was approaching 100 degrees and the higher we
drove the more intense the heat became. From
one view point we were able to see where we had
come from and how devastating the forest fire
had been. We were camped along the far
horizon in this photo, below those mountains.
You can see the pathway winding around the hills
below.
Near the end of the trail the forest fire left few
trees standing, mostly sticks.
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As a short cut this was a exhilarating experience.
It also left us on the verge of heat exhaustion.
We went over to the Monument and walked
through the valley of Cliff Dwellings stopping
often for water.
It was quite a place, but as you can see there
wasn’t a lot of shade. We were in pretty bad
shape by the time we left.
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Los Alamos
Back in the car we turned on the air conditioning
and continued to drink plenty of water. Los
Alamos was still a few miles away and we had a
chance to recover a little before climbing up into
the town.
There we made a half hearted attempt to tour the
museum. I tried to get Arlene up on ‘Fat Boy’.
What a ride that would have been, but she didn’t
have the energy. We then left, and drove down
through the valley through Santa Fe and back to
our Cochiti camp.
We should return to Los Alamos when were in
Santa Fe another time, as it’s to interesting a
place for us to pass up.
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Silver City
SWOOSH!! We’ve recovered from the heat, and
vowed never to go without water again. We’re
just outside of Caballo State Park on Route 152
headed west toward Silver City. We’ve heard it’s
one of the best towns for senior citizens to retire.
Maybe, but we do have our own ideas about
good places to retire, so we’ll see how it goes.
The drive across the mountains was beautiful.
We wound around and around the hills, climbing
out of the Rio Grande Valley at 6,700 feet with
so many switch backs we lost count. Arlene was
particularly impressed because there were no
guard rails. I drove up and down the 75 miles at
a top speed of 25 mph. There were many spots
where the drop was into oblivion.
Approaching Silver City we came across an open
Copper mine pit. These places are always
impressive. This pit was one of several in the
area and was over 1,000 feet deep. From where
we stood, on the rim it looked to be 2 miles wide.
Trucks at the bottom of the pit looked like match
box toys. They were really several stories high,
each wheel taller than either of us could reach.
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Silver City, in the top 10 of small towns to retire
registered just below the bottom 200 on our list.
There was nothing special about the place.
Beyond a main street it looked like sprawl. There
are so many places we prefer that we shouldn’t
even mention this one.
We turned north on U.S. 180 and drove the
western edge of New Mexico over the San
Francisco Mountains into Arizona near
Springfield.
This time the forest fires were raging and the
road south was closed so we headed north to
Lyman State Park and the Petrified Forest
National Park.
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3 ARIZONA: #1 CACTUS, SAND,
AND STONES,
Petrified Forest National Park
Painted Desert
1933 Fords
Lyman State Park
Canyon De Chelly
Meteor Crater
Salt Creek
Tombstone
Tucson
NCAA Championship Football
Yuma
Prescott
Sedona
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Petrified Forest
We’re off to the northeastern edge of Arizona
near Springfield. The cloud that overshadowed
us for miles now lay just south and above a range
of mountains. We recognized the acrid smell of
the burnt wood, and as we turned north our eyes
were sore. It was the forest fire.
Often these fires are caused by lightning strikes,
but this one was a careless camper. As we
approached the cross roads at U.S. 60 and U.S.
180 the barriers were already up closing Rt 191.
We are not that familiar with wild fires like they
have in the west, nor the low humidity. But, we
had noticed that our paper and cardboard was so
brittle it crinkled to the touch. We would be
extra careful from this point onward.
Beyond us to the north the sky was clear,
cloudless, and blue as a sapphire. The mountain
sides and valleys were filled with Ponderosa
Pines. This is my favorite kind of forest and the
high plains of Arizona are filled with them. The
pine trees are so elegant, tall, growing apart
letting the sunlight shine through to a floor of
carpeted needles and grasses.
North of us was Lyman State Park. We were
looking forward to stopping.
But what a let down. Lyman is in the middle of
nowhere. The lake had so little water that we
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were able to walk across half of one end. The
little water there was muddy red. It also cost too
much at $19.00 and we were camped beside
others no more than 15 feet apart when the park
had 12,000 acres. The wind was also blowing up
a cold front, meaning we wouldn’t even use the
electric to keep us cool. We were so
disappointed that we changed three nights back
to two.
We slept really well in the cool night. The
morning greeted us with an overcast gray sky.
What could be better than a cloud cover for a day
on the Painted Desert, 72-75 degrees all day long.
The Petrified Forest was only 75 miles away.
The miles transitioned us from the pine forests to
rolling hills of grass and into the ancient forest of
petrified trees, where you could always see the
horizon and never anything growing. It captures
a different kind of beauty, dry as a bone, 5%
humidity, clear skies, and sandy reddish pastels
blending together; blood red, pinks, and oranges,
and shadows of blues and purples. We were
quickly attracted to the fallen and uncovered
trees.
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These trees have been morphed into silicon rocks
and spread over the hills. They come in several
shapes and types. Our favorite are the agates.
The others look like wood and don’t have the
glow or depth that the agates do. Alabaster is a
good way to describe the most beautiful rocks.
We are fortunate to have a few large pieces that
our dear friends in Florida, Mary Jane and Bill
Beach had given us.
We walked and drove the 25 miles from one end
of the park to the other and back. At each stop
Arlene headed out among them, posing and
moving on over the paths and hills.
They are stunning laying on their sides, maybe 40
feet long with one end uncovered and the other
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disappearing under the soil. Choose your
favorite color, gray, bluish
gray, milky white, rose and blood red, okra,
yellow, gold, rust and black. Every color that
minerals have, when replacing the thousand year
old cellulose fibers.
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Painted Desert
Further north we stopped at The Painted Desert
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and the famous Harvey Girls restaurant, now a
Visitors Center.
The Painted Desert has bright colors of red’s
oranges, blues and purples. It is vivid in the
sunlight and less so when cloudy.
Here Fred Harvey established a chain of
restaurants and hotels. His Harvey Girls were a
group of ladies that were hired to run these
restaurants in the southwestern deserts during the
1880’s. The girls were strictly watched over and
given few chances to carry on by themselves.
Either to get married or run off with their
favorite beau.
Richard has begun to draw and this is an early
attempt at his vision of the Harvey Girls Painted
Desert Inn.
This inn has been renovated several times since it
was first built. At first it was built with petrified
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rocks, large windows and a deck for viewing the
desert. It has been transitioned into Santa Fe
Adobe styling which has been maintained until
today.
It’s built on a sandy cliff and its foundation is
unstable. Inside cracks split the walls and
threaten its demise. Soon it will be closed for
renovation. When finished maybe it will be a
beautiful cantaloupe orange color instead of its
gruesome gray.
1933 FORDS
In 1933 Richard’s parents drove across the desert
in a pouring rain. They followed what is now
InterState 40, but then was a dirt road with dry
washes crossing it at every dip. They describe the
rain and running water.
‘Monday, July 3, 1933
We rolled eastward out over the desert and again kind
clouds protected us from the heat of the sun. Passed thru
Winslow and an short distance beyond Holbrook we
entered the Petrified Forest National Monument.
Here were several forests or areas of these stone trees.
Whole tree trunks were lying around on top of the
ground. Many of them up to four feet in diameter. A
freshly broken piece showed a variety of colors. At the
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headquarters building there are various charts on display
which describe how such a condition could have happened.
They also had specimens of petrified wood and one tree
trunk three feet long and about three feet in diameter
standing on its end, with it’s upper cross section cut square
and polished. This surface was extremely smooth and
showed many colors but with no particular pattern.
At one part of the reserve there was an outcropping of
rocks on which were many Indian pictographs. It was
interesting to climb around to see these writings and
drawings. This was near the north entrance.
There were very dark clouds to the north east which the
ranger said was a rain fall and that it was about ten miles
away. He complained that rain fell all around but none
seemed to fall on the monument. This Petrified Forest
proved very interesting to us. Especially since there were
so many tree trunks to see. I have no official count, but
believe that we saw more than 1,000.
To the north of the monument is another painted desert.
We parked the car at the observation point and looked at
some dull colors in the valley below. There was a light
rain falling at the time. No doubt the soil would show up
brilliantly on a clear day.
Returned to the main road and did not go far until we
discovered that we were following closely upon an extremely
heavy rain fall. At this part of the desert the top soil was
dark red. The rain that had fallen formed streams.
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Apparently this soil must be impervious to water for there
were so many of these steams of red colored water crossing
the road and flowing north. Not being familiar with this
kind of driving we went thru most of them in high gear
which splashed the water high above the car.
Then we came to a stream where a truck was trying to
pull out a sedan that was stuck in the mud up to its head
lights. The truck could not budge it. While we waited a
lady drove up behind us in a New Mexico car and told us
that she had seen how we had driven thru several of the
desert streams and knew that we were not from these
parts. She warned that they must be driven in low gear.
The truck crossed to the other side, then came our turn.
We got over safely but at the waters edge there was a drop
of about a foot into the water and a similar bump at the
far side which the car climbed nobly. The water was so
discolored that we had no idea of how much of the road
was left at all. This stream was about 15 feet wide. We
watched the other cars cross and saw the truck return to
the task of trying to dislodge the sedan. Drove into
Gallup, New Mexico where we stopped for the night.
Trip 220 Miles.’
What a wonderful day we’d had, and driving back
across the Petrified Forest, we stopped again and
again to view the fallen trees, now colorful rocks.
Richard drew a few sketches along the way.
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Lyman State Park
We again slept really well and when we woke we
felt much better. Okay, so we didn’t hit the road
this morning. Instead we fooled around for a
while and then hiked across the dry swimming
area to the Peninsula’s Petrograph Trail.
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A mound of red rocks that didn’t look to difficult
to climb. We were on our way to Rattlesnake
Point, but instead followed the petrograph sign
around the hill along this really well made and
groomed pathway. The dark red soil had been
raked, and along the way gulley’s had large flat
stones , 3 or 4 feet across them.
When we came to an incline there were steps.
Amazingly the height of each step was just right,
about seven inch rises, not to long or short, just
right. Obviously designed by an astronomical
engineer or someone even better.
We don’t admire petrographs that much and by
the time we’d walked half way around the hill
we’d only seen one. That was enough.
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As we rounded one bend a slender character with
a rake was sipping some cool water from a small
thermos. It was ‘Petrograph Chuck’ taking a
break from his volunteer chores.
We figured he must be getting ready for the
onslaught of visitors this weekend. Or do we
have the wrong idea. There’s no water in the
lake, the swimming hole is dry, the wind is
blowing at 30 mph and it’s hot as hell. What was
he doing??
‘You surprised me.’ he said as I called down to
him from a pinnacle above. Imagine me standing
with my hands clasped upon the top of my
walking stick, my cowboy hat fluttering in the
breeze, low cut hiking boots, Bermuda shorts and
a brick red long sleeve UV protective shirt
looking down on this guy.
‘That’s why I stopped up here. So as not to startle
you.’ We talked a little without getting closer.
He asked if we’d seen the petrographs. ‘Yes. But
we weren’t sure if it was a deer because of all the
points on the antlers.’ It’s not a deer he replied
it’s an elk.
He said he was just catching up on grooming his
path. His path. My! My! He really built this
path. ‘Yes my path. I’m a volunteer and an
Archeologist.’
He had leveraged the large, huge stones into
place, using a crow bar and fulcrum. Because the
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hillside was so steep sometimes the stones slid
down past where he wanted them. He would
then have to start over with another stone above
the path. Occasionally, he had help from the
nearby correctional prison’s inmates.
He had been working on the path for several
years. During our conversation I mentioned I
was reading an Edward Abbey book. He didn’t
agree with Abby, but was glad that an eastern
dude would read about the deserts. Abby, by the
way was quickly becoming our bible.
We accepted his offer to show us the
petrographs. As we followed he pointed to
another with each step. The hillside was covered
with them. Some were too weather beaten to
distinguish. Others he interpreted but were
beyond our imagination. There was drawings of
water, fields, corn, turkeys, eagles, women, caves,
mountains, spiritual rights, shamans, directional
signs that helped find the way and confusion
signs that led in the wrong direction, clan signs
and others.
There were so many we couldn’t keep track and
really lost interest in their interpretation, until we
came to the flat, straight carvings on a single
boulder, deeper than all the rest.
At this point Petro graph Chuck outdid himself.
Another kind of tool was used to carve these he
said. They were marks made by Viking. He
thought the Norsemen; Celtics had traveled all
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over America and, signs of their travels had been
found elsewhere. Don’t be surprised he said,
they probably came down the St Lawrence across
to the Mississippi and then west.
We were astonished. Arlene had just finished a
book by Clyde Cussler which used Viking
markings all over the Great Lakes, Mississippi
and Hudson Valleys for his story ‘Vahalla Rising’.
We spent most of the day talking and visiting
with Chuck. It was a pleasant time, and caused
us to alter our feeling about Lyman State Park.
A late lunch of gazpacho soup, which Arlene
make with V-8 and tomato salsa and a touch of
lime juice, with cream cheese crackers and a little
jelly. It was superb. By the time we had taken a
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shower it was time for a light snack and glass of
wine.
Canyon De Chelly
We’re headed further north into the Hopi,
Navaho Indian Reservation and Canyon de
Chelly National Park. That’s pronounced ‘de
Shay’. Indian Reservations, Hopi, Navaho,
Apache, and others are so large they must cover
half of Arizona.
The wind continues. We noticed that petrograph
chuck wore clear glasses that covered his entire
eye, while his regular glasses fit under them.
That’s wind protection. My cowboy hat flutters
and flies off behind me on it’s tether. Sand flicks
into our eyes occasionally and burns our faces.
By the end of the day we look a little like
strawberries or ripe tomatoes. Our UPS sun
screen doesn’t protect us from the wind.
Its gusty, so you can’t lean into it while walking
and when driving it’s a totally different
experience. One moment the rig is aligned in the
lane and next we’ve been blown a foot off to one
side. The belts on the kayaks chatter and the
auto sways behind us. Fortunately the boats are
laying flat on the car. We had originally put them
on their sides. What a problem that would have
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been. We would have sailed across the desert like
a prairie schooner.
We were uncomfortable here on the reservation
and at the campground. The roads were bad,
potholes and rough the countryside was parched,
sage and creosote are the few plants we
recognized. It’s the first time we’ve run into
grasshoppers, and there were thousands of them.
In the campground stray dogs wondered around
from camp site to camp site searching for
handouts. During the night we thought they
were fighting.
It was a good thing we took a tour into the
canyon. We rode in a 6 wheel army truck with
large wheels. The sand covered the canyon from
side to side. In some places it was over 20 inches
deep, elsewhere it might have been only 10.
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Beside guides, Indians were allowed to drive into
the canyon. There were several pickup trucks
and tractors stuck in the sand. One fast moving
truck passed us, slipping and sliding like it was on
ice. We later passed it as it had stalled in the
sand.
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Once there were communities living in the cliff
dwellings. Archeologists don’t expect they
climbed up to the rim, but lived on the floor.
The history of Canyon de Chelly and near by
Canyon de Morto are pretty grim. The latter was
the scene of a massacre when Colonel Kit Carson
led federal troops into the canyon and starved
out a group of renegade Indians. This photo is
of the shear Cliff and table top that the Indians
climbed in hopes of escaping. But, they had no
water and soon surrendered.
We were uncomfortable at this park. It was
isolated and different from other National Parks.
Maybe because it was surrounded by the Navajo
Reservation. We had stopped at the local mall on
the Reservation and accosted by a young man
who wanted a ride. We said ‘no’, and his reply
was, ‘we must be scared to give an Indian a ride’.
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Beside him was a sign that requested not to give
any hand-outs to anyone.
The campground was poorly kept, we’d give it a
1 ½ as there was electricity.
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Meteor Crater
We didn’t wait long to leave Canyon De Chelly.
Northwest of us toward Winslow we stopped at
Homehovi State Park near the Meteor Crater.
It’s open desert and you could see the overcast
from a wild fire that was raging in Washington
State. Often these fire’s smoke blow across many
western states.
For years folks believed this creater had been
caused by a bomb blast. Maybe something like
an atomic blast. An archeologist finally
discovered that it was a meteor.
The blast left an almost perfect circle. meteor
craters that have been seen on all our planets and
moon, now are known to have hit Earth.
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Since that recognition there have been over 200
meteor craters found.
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They say there are 2 pair of cows for every 600
acres. Our sighting of wild life in the desert
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could never confirm that, however, signs are a
dime a dozen. Some are really interesting.
Salt Creek
Were headed off the Colorado Plateau to
Tombstone. Fortunately, we once again had the
inside track to take the Salt Creek Canyon road
down to the lower desert.
Salt Creek was as scary a road as we’ve ever
traveled. On one side was the shear cliff, on the
other a straight drop into the little creek below.
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Tombstone
We expected Tombstone to be a carnal like town.
Which it was, from the Bird Cage theater and bar
to the other end of town OK Corral. In between
was every kind of honky-tonk stores selling
trinkets, cowboy clothes like hats, scarves, boots,
moccasins, saloons, and restaurants. As we
walked down street’s shaded boardwalks a couple
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of gun slingers stopped us. Thanks to the
Sheriff who came by we got away, while the male
hombres grumbled, but moved on. We supposed
they were headed to the end of town where the
Earps would battle with them (Every hour on the
hour.).
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They say Tombstone got it’s name from a
prospector heading for this arid desert area
searching for silver. He’d been told that he’d
only find his tombstone. He didn’t, he found
silver, and for 20 years it was a hot boom town.
The Bird Cage Theater is all that’s left of the
original town. It represented the best
Tombstone had to offer. Entertainment,
whiskey, women, and gambling.
The theater had a raised stage, with cheap seats
on the floor and box seats along the side walls.
Rooms were available for the most expensive
women in town. $20.00 a night, while others
were a low as $.50 cents.
The bar where Doc Holiday, Wyatt Earp and his
brothers tossed down wicked booz was
surprisingly short, less than 20 feet long. Above
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it was an oil painting of a belly dancer, who later,
would become famous at the Chicago Worlds
Fair, as ‘Little Egypt’.
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It’s hard to imagine the town as such a rugged
place, but the region is so desolate that once
outside of town there was only the cruel
unforgiving heat.
We left, headed west on state route 82. It
eventually goes into the border city of Nogales, a
notorious city along the Arizona border. We
didn’t get very far before being pulled over by the
US Customs. They did a perfunctory search of
the RV, and let us go. Within 20 miles we were
stopped again by a US Customs road block.
Tucson
Once off the Colorado Plateau on the lower
desert the temperature rises and it’s less humid.
It makes for a good place to store old metal
things. They don’t rust as quickly.
It’s where the Air Force and commercial air liners
are stored in what they call the ‘Bone Yard’.
There were thousands of planes and parts stored
all over the desert, every kind and model.
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Tucson is also home of the Saguaro National
Park. These cactus are huge as you can see.
There were no campgrounds so we drove around
the hills took a few pictures and headed for
Yuma.
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These cactus are so big and heavy that if they fell
on a car they would crush it. Yet, they are also a
wonder.
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NCAA Championship Football
Outside of Phoenix, in Tempe we stopped to see
the 2000 NCAA National Championship
Football Game between the University of Miami
and Ohio State. Our friends Shelly and Bernie
Waterman had invited us, and we couldn’t resist.
Miami won several times before the referees
screwed it up and gave the game to Ohio State.
It was thrilling.
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Yuma
We stopped in Yuma at a very large private
campground, over 1,000 sites. Because it was
summer we thought we’d be able to find a place.
We did, but only a small area was open, 25 sites.
During the winter the ‘Snow Birds’ fill it up, but
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not so much now.
Yuma has another meaning for us. Arlene and I
both saw many movies during our childhood.
Every Saturday we would go to a double feature.
Many were westerns. The scariest and most
fearsome of all used the Arizona Territorial
Prison as a failsafe place. No one could escape.
Here it was in Yuma.
Outside in the blistering heat was the terrifying
rock pile that the prisoners slaved over day after
day. There was no escape from this horrid place.
The jail walls were like the Alamo really thick.
Flat bars covered every opening in the prison,
windows, doors, and entrances. That was strange
to us as jails today use extruded round bars
instead of blacksmith pounded flat rails.
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.
On the far side of the prison the Colorado River
flows into Mexico. Like the Rio Grande this
river had been drained of all its water before
crossing the border into Mexico. There’s more
to this River’s story that we’ll tell about when we
travel into California.
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Overlooking the river, the railroad bridge marks
the crossing where the Indians shuttled settlers
across into California. We could hardly believe
that this was once a live untamed river with
raging torrents that even steam boats wouldn’t
sail in some places, and at others so shallow you
could walk across it. I wanted to climb down and
wade in it, but didn’t.
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This was the beginning of our trek from the end
of the River, to it’s source high in the Colorado
Mountains. It actually flows into the Gulf of
California, and once created a great delta into the
Bay of California. We will revisit the river again
and again, as well as the Rio Grande.
Prescott
We’re now going up U.S. 95 to Quartzsite, east
on U.S. 60 and into the mountains on State
Route 71 & 89. This drive leads to Prescott, one
of our favorite mountain towns. The narrow two
lane road climbs from one hill to another until
the stark desert becomes a forest and then from
one mountain top to another. Switch back after
switch back, curving and banking all the way into
Prescott. RV’s over 40 feet are not allowed.
This drive is one of our favorites, from
Quartzsite up into the Colorado Plateau, into
Prescott, across the mountains to Jerome, down
into Sedona and back up the Oak Creek Valley
into Flagstaff. It continues south into California
from Quartzsite at Blythe and south along route
78 and the Colorado river into The Imperial
Valley.
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Our campground, Point of Rocks, was 3 miles
outside of Prescott in these rocks. Even though
we don’t care much for private RV parks, we
make some exceptions and this is one. All 50
sites are separated. Boulders were behind us and
trees on each side. The other sites were equally
laid out. At night the Aspen would rustle in the
wind sounding like water falling. The whispering
leaves are a gentle song in our ears.
Years ago when we first came to Prescott, the
town was beginning to change and grow. It’s
ideal location on top of the mountains between
Prescott National Forest and the Mazatzal
Wilderness.
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