Another mega-one-day trip into Arizona. We started by speeding south down Interstate 10, zipping past Picacho Peak State Park before stopping to take at least one roadside photo to prove that we were heading somewhere. Blam, there are saguaros, so you now know we are out in the desert and not by the pool.
Just south of Tucson, we created quite the commotion as we skidded into the gravel parking lot of Mission San Xavier del Bac, said a couple of Hail Marys, and were once again on the move.
Nothing like some nuclear violence and missiles to go with God, and so it was ordained that we should stop at the Titan Missile Museum in Green Valley and look death in the face.
It only gets better when you throw slabs of a dead grilled cow on a plate and dig into the rare warm flesh of a mammal to celebrate that though God, war, and pestilence are all around, we are going out celebrating life while the stars still shine, the sun burns brightly, and God has not smitten me for my nearly blasphemous musing at his expense. Sadly, we did not eat here at the Longhorn Grill in Amado, even though it was our second time through.
Across the desert landscape, we search for more debauchery or water, whatever we find first.
Drats, we found water first here in Patagonia, which I thought was in Chile, but that’s what the sign said.
No road or creek will be missed on this trip that plans to take in all of Arizona today. This is the Buenos Aires National Wildlife Refuge, and I can assure you that no fish were killed in this river crossing, though the frog I hadn’t seen crossing the stream at the same time we were now has a crippled leg.
Ahhh, Bisbee! An old favorite we’ve been to with my parents back in 1995, then again with Jutta just last year, and now here we are again, probably starting to annoy the people of this mining town with our near-constant presence.
Then again, there is nobody here to bother, so why worry?
I’ll tell you why you worry because this crazy town of Bisbee has shark cars, and anywhere a shark car is street legal; it must mean one thing, violators of the rules or unwanted vermin are quickly eaten and pooped out the tailpipe; end of the story.
Next door to the O.K. Corral in Tombstone is the phone booth that Clark Kent used to become Superman. Yep, we are driving north again after having bumped into Mexico by Bisbee, but we’re good now as we slingshot upwards, certain to hit the Grand Canyon before sunset.
Damn, we got caught up at the Bird Cage Theatre watching some old-timey burlesque, though I’m not sure poles were part of the act way back when. After all that hot dancing action, I had to visit the local Tombstone brothel, which turned out to be a bummer because the last bordello closed in 1946, which is so unfair! See if I ever come back.
I didn’t even get to tell you about exploring the rest of Bisbee, walking around Tombstone and checking out Boothill Graveyard, visiting the town of Patagonia, or some of the other stuff we saw at the Titan Missile Museum or in the Wildlife Refuge. And now it’s 7:30 p.m., and we’re only passing through Benson (but had to stop to take a photo of this great neon sign in front of a dramatic sky) and won’t even be back in the Phoenix area before 10:30 p.m. Next time, we’ll have to leave around 4:00 in the morning or not dawdle as much along the way. By the way, this is how we spend a random Wednesday. I wonder what we’ll do for an encore on the weekend?
