This morning, I’m out on the road for a solo trip southeast, with my first stop happening in the old mining town of Superior, Arizona. Driving down Main Street I was surprised to see that, after years of threatening to reopen, the Historic Hotel Magma is once again in business. Caroline and I first learned of the town and the hotel from the Oliver Stone film titled U-Turn, featuring (among others) Joaquin Phoenix, which was our introduction to this actor. I stopped in at the Los Hermanos Mexican Restaurant for some coffee and to take these notes. From here, I’m going south through Ray, Kearny, and Winkleman before turning northeast to circle up through Christmas and then Globe, Miami, and Top-of-the-World, which will lead me into Superior once more today before going home.
While the roads have been taken before, and this could be considered an indulgence of nostalgia, I have little choice if I want to wander into nature for a day trip. After 24 years in the Desert Southwest, Caroline and I have traversed almost every paved road and many a dirt road throughout this region. My goal is more to stop in cafes to have a cup of coffee and simply get away from my routine in Phoenix. Maybe along the way, I’ll find something to eat or, as I have my camera with me, a landscape might encourage me to capture an image I’ve not seen before.
I can’t remember visiting Ray before, but if I did, it is mostly or totally gone. Seems like a mountain’s worth of earth was moved from where it originally was to another location as the mine out this way is still active. I had to pull over nearly a dozen times in order to maintain the pace that allowed everyone else traveling the same road to pass me. The saguaros look over the road just as they have for decades, but I don’t recognize one of them. They stand there silently, never moving, not even swaying in the wind, just waiting and bearing witness to our coming and going. A dead javelina was proof of its failure to cross the road, and as not a chicken was seen, I can only surmise they, on the other hand, were successful in their attempts.
Here in Kearny, it’s nearly as quiet as the javelina was still. I’m on the main thoroughfare that is considered the business district, but that’s playing fast and loose with semantics. Taking a break, sitting next to the road in the shade at a rusty old picnic table, it’s striking how much I take my luxury for granted. I’m 101 miles from home, and if I lived here, I might as well have been at the opposite end of the universe. The economy of Kearny is obviously hanging on by a thread. There’s a tiny grocery store behind the gas station on my left; Cosmic Coffee is long shuttered. There’s a burger joint and pizza place that is still operating and hopefully will continue to do so, as there’s really nothing else left.
What there are are mountains all around me, and on those brown cliffs and peaks are cacti. At night, I’d imagine one might hear the occasional truck heading down the road or a coyote in the distance, but that would be about it. On moonless nights, the Milky Way must shine like the beacon it is to those who are so lucky to have dark skies.
There’s a surprising amount of foot traffic here near the grocery store. One group of people told me it was “Asian Day” at the deli counter, so they picked up lunch and were off for a picnic. A UPS truck passed by as a reminder that the global market is just a mouse click away, and while it might take an extra day to reach Kearny, Himalayan salt, expensive German cutlery, Adidas sweatpants, and a new Fitbit would reach me exactly as it would over in Phoenix.
Despair follows the road south. The economy along the way is fucked, and with the mines being the major employer, the strikers every so many miles suggest things are even worse than my vulgar description for those trying to hold on to the hope of having a job. We first passed through this part of Arizona 17 years ago, and the decay obviously runs away unabated as I follow a path I’ve traveled on more since that first occasion.
I’m getting lunch at Maria’s Mexican Restaurant, and even if I wanted something else, there are no other choices down here. I drove by Giorsetti’s General Store and was pleasantly surprised to see that it was still open. Not so lucky were the dead javelinas as I spotted two more adults and two juveniles, though none of them were close enough to one another to suggest they were related, well, besides their unfortunate circumstances. Also found dead on the road was a large bloated deer with an obviously broken neck, a not-so-smelly skunk, and some unidentifiable fur patches that were nearly fully merged with the pavement.
So here I am, full of carne asada with beans, at the end of Highway 177, about to head northeast on Highway 77, which will lead me past Christmas. Earlier, I wrote that I was passing through that town, but now I see that the half-dozen or so homes up the mountain that are in Christmas are, in fact, well up a dirt road I won’t be traveling on today. In my head, I’m flipping the coin of taking the road less traveled with a long drive home or returning the way I came, but know that I must take the quieter path.
My heart is on its way home, though my desire to remain in roaming mode is still wanting to rule the day. A stop along the Gila River and a pitstop in Globe were all that I was going to get in before pulling into North Scottsdale to pick up Caroline.
