December 27 to January 3, 2016/2017—Adios New, Hola Old, Mexico-wise
Left Albuquerque with reluctance. Reluctantly, because, after all, our grandkids were there. Not only that, Tom had a world class collection of wines and liquors (he still has the collection; just smaller quantities of each), the pantry was full of delicacies, and we had our own separate quarters in a stand-alone house in Hillary’s yard. These structures are known as casitas in New Mexico which translates as “a place to put the old folks until we need it as a party space for New Year’s Eve.” Just joking; it was time for us to get on the road. We were not moving around enough.
I had a guy working on the Scamp during the month we were in ABQ. I didn’t get an estimate as he came recommended by a neighbor of Hillary’s who I know and like; I just told the RV guy what I wanted done. As the day of reckoning drew near I began to worry about just what he might charge for the minor but numerous repairs. Anything under $800 would make me pleased, but I could imagine him charging as much as $1,500. The total freight was $792, so I started the year on an $8 high.
Drove a little ways south to Elephant Butte State Park in New Mexico (NM). A beautiful place, $14/night, spacious well-appointed campsites like all of the NM state parks we have visited. The park, which is not called Elephant Butt, is the largest in NM, built around a 40 mile long reservoir. The reservoir is created by a dam on the Rio Grande built in the 1930s by Civilian Conservation Corps. On one hike we found what must have been their camp dumpsite—a patch of desert about half mile from the dam, off road, strewn with ancient browned tin cans that had been opened with those knife blades that chew a can open one bite at a time.
Truth or Consequences NM is the town nearest Elephant Butt park. It adopted the name after a dare by the TV show of that name. Previously known as Geronimo Springs, the town has numerous spas built around the hot springs which bubble to the surface here. Like so many small towns throughout the country half the storefronts are vacant and a small group is trying to make a go of it by offering “artisanal,” exotic or hipster goods. We wish them luck everywhere. If they prosper there will be a multitude of cool towns to dawdle in. TorC has a decent if rather scattershot collection of artifacts in their museum; worth an hour of time and the admission charge. It’s all railroads, mining, fabled gunslingers, Indians, and whorehouses in this part of the world.
Met a fellow resident in the RV park who grew up in Chicago and, as a kid, carried the great Hubert Sumlin’s amplifier to a gig. Later he played brush drums for folk records made at Chess Studios, went to San Francisco in the summer of love, then became a musician in his own right as drummer for a band called Daddy Long Legs which found success in England in the 1960s-early 70s. He made me copies of their first two albums, which according to the interwebs are desired by vinyl collectors. Stylistically they are all over the lot but it is professional, solid musicianship. He was a nice guy who told me lots of stories about the blues and rock musicians he knew. He told me Sam Leigh couldn’t tour with the Butterfield Blues Band because the pistol he kept in his waistband discharged accidentally and shot off his left testicle.
It got pretty cold at night in Elephant Butt, but Zach had bought us a small electric heater for Christmas which worked silently and effectively. A great quality-of-life improver. Elephant Butte Lake State Park is grand.
We moved further south in NM in search of warmth, to a state park within sight of the Mexico border in Columbus NM. This was the site of the last armed incursion by a foreign army into US territory. Pancho Villa raided the town of Columbus in 1916 and scores of people were killed in a fierce battle before Villa was repulsed. General “Blackjack” Pershing was dispatched with an army to track Villa into Mexico but was recalled after nine months. Villa had at one time received US support for his revolution but Pres. Wilson withdrew that support. Later Villa accepted arms from Germany who sought to complicate the US military posture at the outset of WWI but Pancho’s revolutionary movement collapsed and he retired to his home state of Chihahua and lived as a wealthy landowner before being assassinated in 1923. There is a museum at Pancho Villa State Park where I learned all this. New Mexico has very nice state parks but this one was rainy and cold so after a breakfast at Irma’s we headed west.
Bisbee, Arizona
Bisbee, AZ, site of one of the great copper mines and a tourist attraction. We took a spot at the Queen Mine state park right in town. Toured the Queen Mine, a one hour foray into the adjoining mountain on a miner’s cart, the tour led by an experienced miner.
The Queen Mine operated from 1870 to 1970 and drew 8 billion tons of copper out of the ground, through underground tunnels and then open pit mining. Also 3 million ounces of gold and 30 million of silver. One early owner of the mine lost his one-tenth share wagering, drunkenly, that he could outrun a man on a horse. The RV park only had room for us for one night; the next night was New Year’s Eve and Bisbee is a party town. We went up the road a little ways to Tombstone.
Tombstone, Arizona
Tombstone is completely hokified but fun to visit. Lots of authentic period-looking characters walking around, failed actors for the most part I discovered, strutting and spitting in character and always on the verge of a gunfight. The gunfights start in the dirt street but move into outdoor theater spaces where you are expected to follow and cough up a few shekels. All men walk differently in Tombstone, it’s impossible not to do so. The word “testosterone” is derived from the name Tombstone. When all is said and done there are authentic remnants of the “old west” to be found in the town. Many of the establishments are in the original buildings and the Bird Cage Theater was shuttered in 1930 and the contents left untouched until the late 1950s when it was cracked open like a vault and its elaborate furnishings restored with a light touch.
It was New Year’s Eve. Our tradition of recent years has been to retire early on December 31, like all the other 364 days. Brenda upheld the tradition but I went into Tombstone and bought one hundred dollars of chips to enter a Texas Hold’em poker game. Every member of my family across three generations with one exception is an accomplished gambler the exception being me. I have played poker in maybe a dozen friendly nickel-dime games in my life and never in anything approaching a professional game. Tombstone seemed like a good place to try my luck. The game took place in an 18th century bank building turned holstery (as in a place where leather holsters are made) owned by the dealer, Rico. One professional table and six players, all men older than me. They were mostly Tombstone businessmen including the holsterer, the newspaper editor, the tobacconist, and the guy who ran the RV park we were staying at. Talk was strictly game-related, no idle chitchat. They called me “Maryland” as in “What’s it gonna be, Maryland?” I had only studied the rules of Texas Hold’em on the internet for an hour before the game. They were tolerant of my ignorances and occasional faux pax. After an hour and a half I bought another forty dollars worth of chips to replenish my dwindling supply. Two hours later I had won two big hands and a string of small ones and came out, after 3.5 hours and a $140 buy in, only twelve dollars down. I felt like I had made a decent showing and I had a good time in this period setting in a historic town with nice gents and I made it home well before midnight.
Why, Arizona
A long drive after Tombstone, on route 10, crossing below Tucson in a ferocious wind and rain. Turned south after Tucson onto a long, lonely highway that went passed Kitts Peak Observatory.
[Not a mesa but a mountain disappearing into a cloud. Geronimo surrended a few miles from here at Skeleton Canyon, ending the Indian Wars. Geronimo kept popping up in our travels, going back to Ft Pickens in Florida where G was imprisoned.]
On this 100 mile stretch we saw maybe 25 vehicles and 20 of them were DHS Border Patrol. We took a spot in Coyote Howls RV park, $20/night with full hookups. Stayed two nights. The camp guy told us how to get through the barbwire fence at the end of the dirt road so we could walk around in the desert. The RV park had thirty spots and most of them were reserved for the winter by Coloradans, British Columbians, northern Arizonans and such. We joined them around the fire at the camp managers site in the evening—drinks and story-swapping. We spent a day in Organ Pipe National Monument, a vast park protecting a representative segment of the Sonoran Desert and the rare organ pipe cactus. Parts of the park are a UN-designated Biosphere Reserve meaning it represents a unique and significant natural ecosystem. It is staggeringly beautiful in places. The Ajo mountain road, 20+ miles of dirt path, was as striking to me as Yosemite. To re-strike a common theme here, it was made remarkable by the fact that we were the only ones in it. The 20-some miles took hours to navigate, not just because the road was rough but because every twenty yards the vistas and scenery changed to something more beautiful. We saw two cars parked at trailheads and no people the whole route.
Large parts of the park were closed for eleven years owing to immigration and smuggling activity and the death of a park ranger in a shootout. The closures ended two years ago altho there is still a fair amount of immigration activity in the area. A humanitarian group puts out barrels of water marked by tall purple flags at distant spots in the desert for unprepared travelers. There is a campground at Organ Pipe but without water or electricity. (The organ pipe cactus looks like a set of organ pipes only when it dies and the skeletons of the multi-stemmed cactus are revealed.)
[These are the principle cactus types. Foreground in prickly pear, talls ones saguaro, between them the low one is cholla, and left the organ pipe.]
Our original plan was to drive back to Highway Ten, continue on to California, cross into Mexico at Calexico/Mexicali and head straight to Baja. This would have involved some backtracking but would allow me to refill my meds in US. But here we were only twenty miles from a small border crossing at Lukeville/Sonoyta. We decided to go into Mexico from here in Arizona and find a place en-route to Baja on the east coast of the Gulf of California and hope I could fill my RX in MX.