Good evening, Campers! It’s Silver Cliche’ with you again. Tonight we are settled in the Grand Canyon State... Arizona! Strangely, we are nowhere near the Grand Canyon. Choosing that state nickname is kind of like New York calling itself “The Niagara Falls State”. Sure, it’s “in New York”, but on the very edge and choosing one feature to define a whole state leaves a lot out. Plus, the people of Arizona didn’t build the Grand Canyon. It was here when they arrived.
Anyway, enough nitpicking about the state that’s hosting us for the next five nights. Let’s talk about the last state first. It was chilly in New Mexico 12 hours ago when we woke. I miss it already. Remember, we were at Rockhound State Park. That’s the only park we’ve been to where they encourage visitors to carry off the land. They have plenty and you can almost watch what’s carried off being replaced by Mother from the cliffs above. Here’s a shot from our campsite this morning:
After being lazy for a while... a long while... we figured it was time to make a plan. I told Mrs. C’ about a trail I found that claimed to offer just what the park was founded for... letting visitors pick up strange and unusual pieces of the earth’s crust to take home as souvenirs. It was called “Thunder Egg Trail”. Sounded ominous to me. We set off anyway. I turned to Google to find a textbook image of a thunder egg. Evidently they are like geodes but may not even be hollow. Based on what I found, they have faces that resemble the ghosts from “Ghostbusters” but I’m not sure that’s true in all cases.
The signs at the trailhead warned to prepare for the worst. The trail was a mile long in a loop beginning and ending at the campground. The suggestion was to bring an expedition-load of gear... and plenty of water. We headed off the same way we’d dress to walk from the parking lot all the way into the grocery store. From a close spot near the handicapped spots... not a far off spot where the employees, health fanatics and new BMW owners park while they still have temp tags before they habitually park at an angle to block two closer spots. The campground host scrambled to find a camera to take our picture for the upcoming “Guide to the Hunting of Rocks”. I’m pretty sure that pic will be titled “The Wrong Way”. I brought a carpenter’s hammer for good measure and for defense against rattlesnakes. You can’t over prepare for rock hunting.
Now, I’m not prepared to admit that we did or did not return with a bag of geodes and thunder eggs. Those very items are for sale in rock shops throughout the southwest. To keep the story of our trip interesting and to preserve my commitment to bone straight honesty, I may one day say “We hiked the Thunder Egg trail outside of Deming looking for interesting rocks which are often found there. This geode came from that trip to New Mexico.” When it comes to truth telling, fishermen have nothing on rock hunters. Somebody must have stopped at a fish store on the way home and thrown some whole snapper in the cooler after removing the price tags. I can hear them bursting through the door at home saying “Guess who went fishing and brought home dinner!”.
We set off... back on I-10 because we had ground to cover.
For hours we drove along mountains. There were distant ranges to the north. Extensive ridges to the south. Rugged peaks ahead in the distance.
Strangely, we never got to them. It was like being in a Hollywood movie where the mountains out the window are matte paintings and not real mountains at all. The scenery changed, but slowly and not much. The lack of a feeling of progress was painful.
At some point recently we left the edges of the Chihuahuan desert and entered the heart of the Sonoran. I’ll sound like an easterner for saying this, but it feels like a distinction without a difference to me. It’s kind of like your doctor saying “No, it’s not you duodenum that’s acting up. It’s more likely the ilium.” Doc, it’s all intestine to me, got it? One thing we saw today was the State of Arizona’s answer to the disappearance of the Burma Shave signs. In two spots on I-10 there were warning zones for dust storms. These included flashing lights (not flashing today, thankfully), electronic speed limit signs that could be set to display anything from 0 to 80 by a guy with a computer in a bunker somewhere and a series of yellow signs with black letters informing drivers what to do if dust threatens. They included advice to not stop in a driving lane (good guidance!), pull completely off the road (ditto,), turn off your car (huh?), keep your seatbelt fastened (because of... blowing dust?). Evidently, dust is like Jason or Freddy Kruger. You don’t want to tip it off where you are or make it easier to take you.
We saw mining equipment. Large dump trucks on flat beds with “wide load” banners. In one case, just the dump bodies from (presumably) even larger trucks. We also saw trains. Huge, long trains of containers from ocean going container ships. We saw one eastbound that probably had 200-300 containers straining to move with six diesel locomotives at the head. We saw a similar-sized train whistling along westbound with just two engines. Huh? Oh, I get it! It’s the Chinese jobs program. They send the full ones here after paying people $2 an hour to fill them. We move them by train to places all around the U.S. where people buy what’s inside with COVID stimulus money that Washington borrowed with a promise that future generations will pay it back then we send them back to China empty to restart the cycle. What could go wrong with a plan like that?
Finally, we reached Tucson. Now, I live in Florida, the state that invented driving slow in the left lane. That diminishes my moral authority to complain about drivers in other states. However... this has to stop, Arizona! We saw two serious accidents and three close calls (I gasped audibly once) in 30 minutes. I’m glad to know they recently legalized recreational marijuana here. It should save lives.
As we neared Catalina State Park northeast of Tucson at about 2:00 PM (which may actually have been 3:00 PM since Arizona doesn’t go to daylight savings time. So, since the rest of the country is on DST but they are not and since they are in the Mountain Time zone, it’s like being in California but we are actually south of Utah.) the temperature climbed. For the first time in its young life, the trusty Tundra’s outside temp gauge said “100”. The tire monitors read up to 120 degrees at street level. Ok, I know they say “it’s a dry heat” and today was dryer than James Bond’s martini, but 100 degrees on May 5 is ridiculous!
We are here for three nights. I may take a night off, so don’t be surprised to find a “gone fishin’” sign hanging here one night... or maybe “gone rock huntin’”. I promise some tales and pics of Tucson including the field of Saguaro cacti that are directly behind the trailer.
Later...
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