Veness Travel Media

Heading North Into The Great Southwest

Simon wanted a trip up to Sante Fe for its Western and cowboy-movie history, rich cultural reputation, and the chance to see northern New Mexico, which we’d heard was spectacular. Reusable canvas grocery bags packed (because we both thought we brought a carry-on bag for the occasional hotel stay, but didn’t), we locked up Fati and hit the road in Nippy for two days visiting Santa Fe, Taos Pueblo, and Albuquerque.

What we found when we got to Santa Fe was even more compelling than we expected. Adobe buildings, a billion restaurants, and art right out there on the street where anyone could swipe it, if they had a crane and a big truck.

What is it about adobe houses? They’re so cute and different and Southwestern, and we were immediately smitten.

*San Miguel Chapel, Santa Fe’s oldest church, dating to 1610 A.D.*

*The oldest house in the U.S.A., dating back to 1646 A.D.*

We’d been given several recommendations for great dining in the Old Town area. What we didn’t know was that New Mexico closes at 3:30pm. We arrived at our first choice at 3:29pm and got a hard “No” when we asked if they could at least do soup as a carry-out after our 4-plus hour journey.

The franchise-sounding Burrito and Co. was open, though, and we’re here to tell you their homemade Tortilla Soup with fresh tortillas and wedges of lime on the side was so warming and delicious, we were almost glad we didn’t have another choice. Oh, the heavenly lusciousness of it all!

Old Town’s plaza was dressed up for Christmas, and a group of Native American guys were performing traditional chants that evening. They may have been doing it for weekend beer money, as young people are wont to do, but it set a tone so evocative we were spellbound for quite some time. It was the sort of cultural experience we’d been hoping for when we planned this trip, and put a human face on our upcoming visit to Taos Pueblo.

Restaurants reopened for dinner, so we got a carry-out from La Choza. We shared an order of tamales (one vegetarian, one shredded pork,) but Susan can’t do spicy food anymore, and these were up there a bit, so Simon ate most of it and Susan had a few little Biscochito, New Mexico’s official cookie.

The next morning, Ruthie helped Simon get a coffee from the hotel…

…then we set off for nearby Taos Pueblo. We knew it was a 1000-year-old “living village” with adobe buildings dating back to around 1400 A.D. and shops offering authentic Native American arts. There was a cost to get into the public areas and a code of conduct while visiting (basically, don’t be a jerk, and don’t take photos of residents without their permission).

Only a couple of shops were open, but we were primarily there to see the buildings, which have neither water nor electricity. Residents live in modern homes within the Restricted areas, and use their traditional homes during gatherings and events, and as a source of income from selling arts and crafts.

It was a fascinating window into a world that was chipped away so profoundly that what’s left of it in this country qualifies as a National Historical Landmark. That weird mix of awe and of despair for a lost way of life remained with us for some time afterwards.

With a few hours of daylight left (it was getting dark around 5:30pm) we pointed Nippy to the Enchanted Circle Scenic Byway for some mountainous sight-seeing that would take us back to Santa Fe.

*The cute little town of Eagle’s Nest. We stopped at a cafe here for hot drinks, which, I kid you not, took about half an hour to make.*

That night we grabbed another carry-out for dinner, but this time we won’t mention the restaurant’s name, because it went pretty badly wrong. Susan worked in restaurants in her younger years and knows things happen, but it’s still disturbing when you get a whomping great shard of broken metal in your El Salvadoran Plate’s tamale.

*The photo we sent the restaurant so they knew what to look for. Penny was for size.*

It was good while it lasted, but it was back to the biscochito for her. Simon was able to finish his Chili Relleno (just; Susan’s metal was off-putting), but he did place a call to the restaurant, who comped Susan’s meal and went out of their way to figure out where the metal came from (it was the tip of a knife, they later told us). They also threw out all their tamales that night, to save anyone else from a potential E.R. visit while they figured out what had gone wrong.

Before leaving town for Albuquerque on our return trip to Fati the next day, we popped into Loretto Chapel to see the “miraculous staircase” built in 1878 by an “unknown carpenter” using wood that is “not of this world.”

As legend has it, the chapel’s 22-foot-high choir loft was not accessible to the nuns running the place, who (presumably because they were wearing habits that anyone could look up) could not use a ladder. They made a novena to St. Joseph, the patron saint of carpenters, and soon a carpenter arrived on a burro with a toolbox and a solution.

He worked for months, then disappeared without saying goodbye or asking for payment, leaving behind a magnificent circular staircase with no nails to hold it together and no visible central support to hold it up. And what the heck kind of wood was it? It certainly wasn’t wood that was available in Santa Fe. There were questions.

The work of Saint Joseph himself, some say. The wood is spruce, scientists insist. Nail-less construction was far from unknown. But it’s a great tale, and a gorgeous example of craftsmanship, wonky structural safety notwithstanding.

The railing wasn’t part of the original build. It was added later, for obvious safety reasons. Those nuns would have been bouncing precariously due to the double helix design (meaning: springy!), with nothing to hold on to.

We gabbed about theories and doubts and storytelling on the way to Albuquerque, but by the time we arrived a serious exhaustion had begun to creep in, and our hearts weren’t in it. It was time to return to Fati and let our brains cool down for 24 hours before making the two-day drive into Texas via an overnight at a Rest Area before reaching our Alpine campground retreat.

Three Crosses, One Outlaw, And A Snowy Sandscape

Ten whole days in Las Cruces, New Mexico! We arrived at the superbly welcoming Las Cruces KOA Journey campground full of enthusiasm for the billion things we had planned, using the city as our base; a list so long that sane people would have taken a month to complete it. But not us! We were ready to pack it in tight and see absolutely everything! YAY!!

Idiots.

We know better, too. For decades we’ve been admonishing excited visitors to Orlando who think they can do it all in two weeks. But this isn’t Orlando, and we’re professionals. Right?

*Would professionals take a photo this bad? I don’t think so!*

Normally we stay home on our arrival day because breaking camp, traveling in Fati, and setting up again can be taxing, and we like to start fresh. This time, we headed straight to the adorable town of Old Mesilla, not far from our campground, for its Mexican and Billy the Kid history, and its central plaza decorated for Christmas.

Everything about the tiny burg surrounded by pecan groves worked for us. Cute little one-off shops, strings of red chilis strung along the walkways, and the county courthouse (now a gift shop) in which Billy the Kid was sentenced to hang by his neck until dead for the crime of murder. He escaped, of course, and went into hiding before being shot to death at the age of 22.

*We’re not sure what Ruthie is doing, but Simon seems happy.*

Ever-aware of not adding any more weight to Fati than absolutely necessary, we broke our “don’t buy anything frivolous” rule and purchased two gorgeous woven placemats with the kind of bright, geometric patterns so prevalent in New Mexico. We use them every day, and they only added a few ounces of weight. We put on more than that just in belly bloat during the hot summer months, so this wouldn’t even register for Fati.

A take-away dinner from La Posta gave us our first taste of New Mexico, with tacos for Susan and Posole stew for Simon. And we’re here to say, that slightly spicy, hearty-flavored stew was the kind of “gimmie more” soup we both love!

We scarfed our food down and didn’t remember to take photos until it was half gone.

*So, the tacos were fried (who fries tacos?!). I have no gallbladder. You can guess the unhappy results.*

After a blissfully quiet sleep with none of the all-night-long train noise we’d had over the past week, we made White Sands National Park and the nearby town of Alamogordo our first full day’s excursion. We didn’t know what to expect from White Sands, but we didn’t expect the park’s 25-square-miles of dunes to be so completely like a wintery snowscape that we literally had to remind our brains it was pulverized gypsum crystals, not snow, a task made harder by all the people sledding down the slopes (albeit in bare feet and shorts!).

Now, Ruthie hates sand. You know that if you read our Michigan blogs. But this? She LOVED it. She went prancing and dancing and hopping all over the place, full of puppy energy and joy! We continue to wonder if she was a Midwestern dog that got lost from her family while they were on vacation in Florida, and that she was fooled by the familiarity of a snowy landscape.

From there we went to Alamogordo, where a giant pistachio convinced us to buy a few packets of the real thing, locally grown…

…then we headed up through Lincoln National Forest to Cloudcroft, a place so mountain village-y and so cold it felt like a winter’s day in the Colorado Rockys. Here, Ruthie got to walk on her first patch of real snow (that we know of), and she seemed to enjoy it.

El Paso, Texas, our next day’s destination in Nippy (we’d only be able to drive though it in Fati on our way south), should be an entire blog. It’s iconic. Everyone knows the name. It’s filled with Spanish missions and great Mexican food, and we set off from Las Cruces with visions of authentic cuisine and spectacular history on our minds. But that’s not what we found.

*El Paso is a sprawling city. This was taken from high on a hill where rich people live.*

We’re certain we didn’t get the best out of El Paso. Everything felt a little bit “off.” It didn’t help that the Visitor Center was located in an area that was entirely boarded up and abandoned, and the center itself had long since skipped town, too.

We tried. We really did. But, for whatever reason, we kept running into closures and locked doors. Need the restroom? Forget it. They’re all locked unless you buy something. We did find a nice market near the Old Town that opened their restroom doors for us, and we were told there is a problem with people experiencing homelessness that has caused local businesses to make the decision to lock up.

And then there’s that big whompin’ border wall that commands attention no matter where you are in town. It’s like a lurking presence. We bounce back and forth between understanding the necessity and being horrified by the inhumanity of it all.

*The yellow sign and the overhead digital sign further along read, “Watch For Unexpected Pedestrians.”*

The big red X across the border in Juarez is a sculpture that represents the blending of Spanish and Aztec cultures.

To lift our spirits again, we took to the Billy the Kid Scenic Byway the next morning, hot on the heels of the infamous outlaw. Our launching point was Smokey Bear Historical Park, the burial site of the little bear who was rescued after a deadly blaze and became the nation’s advocate for preventing forest fires.

A cute museum told his tale, and honors the country’s longest running advertising campaign (say it with me: “Only YOU can prevent forest fires!”).

Next up was Lincoln, where Billy the Kid was jailed for murdering a sheriff, and he then shot and killed two deputies while escaping. The tiny burg has hardly changed at all since the 1880s.

Mule deer (or, they might be elk; we never can tell) are all over this town, which added to the yesteryear Wild West feel of the place.

The mountainous drive itself was just stunning, and again, it reminded us how little we know about this country. We didn’t expect such enormous mountains in New Mexico.

But we weren’t done yet. We had two nights booked at a hotel in Santa Fe for a trip in Nippy that would also include Albuquerque and Taos. But we’ll cover that part of our journey in another blog.

Roswell and Carlsbad Caverns were also on our must-do list while in Las Cruces, but as we returned to Fati from Santa Fe we came to an energy-crashing halt. We just couldn’t add another 500 miles to our touring, not to mention having to leave Ruthie in a rented crate while we did a cave tour. It was a bridge too far.

We consoled ourselves by remembering our time in Postojna Cave Park in Slovenia, a spectacular, other-worldly experience during which we were taken “behind-the-scenes” to a pitch-black area where the blind, pure-white, salamander-like Olm (Proteus anguinus) lives. Unbelievable luck allowed us to see this magnificent creature, which lives to 100 years old and only needs to eat every couple of years. We’re not sure anything could top that cave adventure, so that’s the sentiment we stuck with when dropping Carlsbad Caverns from our journey.

*One infinitesimal part of the massive Postojna Cave. That thing in the middle is a walkway bridge.*

*Simon and our guide looking at the tiny Olm that lives in darkness here.*

And Roswell? One too many people told us it’s entirely skippable. Two people mentioned issues with crimes against automobiles. We really wanted to go anyway. But we’d been talking about having unfinished business in New Mexico, and we’re sure another visit to the state – next time for longer – is on the cards in the future.

A Year On The Road – The 7-Month Map

Charting our “Year On The Road” RV adventure across America after Month 7

As another milestone rolls around, it’s time to update our ongoing Map of the whole trip and tot up our latest mileage chart.

*The 259-mile route from Tucson, Arizona, to Las Cruces, New Mexico*

On face value, this has been our least-traveled month, at least in RV terms. We have driven a scant 259 miles in our Winnebago Indefatigable (or Fati for short), starting a month ago in Tucson, Arizona, and reaching Las Cruces in New Mexico, a simple journey almost entirely on Interstate 10. Not the stuff of traveling legend, especially compared to our hectic first two months, when we covered fully 3,849 miles from Florida to Wyoming.

*How our Road Atlas looks after seven months of our RV adventure. Our overall route in Fati is shown in yellow, with all our various side-trips in Nippy show in pink*

*The larger view of the past month’s travels, showing our steady 259-mile easterly progress from Arizona into New Mexico*

Even by the standards of the last 3 months (869, 579 and 545 miles respectively), it is a slim return. But the fact is we are now spending longer in specific places (like Tucson and Las Cruces) and doing more of our actual journeying by car (our faithful Ford Fiesta, Nippy). We learned our lesson several months ago, after Fati suffered several mechanical issues with our hectic pace, that it was better to reach a destination from which we could explore by car in all directions, and this last month has been the perfect example of that.

Because, while our RV mileage is WAY down, our travel in Nippy has increased substantially. In month 6, she chalked up a whopping 1,927 miles, and in month 7 we have added an even-more-whopping 2,884, which included long-distance trips to Silver City, White Sands and, especially, Santa Fe. But, with Nippy getting a good 45 miles to the gallon on longer drives, and gas prices in New Mexico the cheapest since we left home ($2.25/gallon on our most recent fill-up), it is an economical and strategic success.

*The wide, open and inviting mountain roads of New Mexico, as seen from Nippy’s front window!*

What all this means is that we have now traveled 7,312 miles in Fati and a humongous 18,150 in Nippy, for a total of 25,462 miles since we left home.

Next up, we turn south for Texas and a long tour down the western half of the state as far as the Gulf Coast. Probably more miles for Fati than Nippy, but you never know…!

New Mexico In Bits And Pieces

A new day, a new state! We made our way into New Mexico just as the temperature began to plummet, but we had a lot of touring planned, so we added a third layer to our clothing and a fifth layer to our bedding, and made Deming our base for visiting Gila National Forest and a drive to the Mexico/U.S. border.

With a late start to our first full day, we chose San Lorenzo as our afternoon destination. We knew nothing about it except that it was a ghost town, but that was enough for us, and up the Whitehorse Mountain we went.

*Deer and another deer. Such excitement!*

While the drive along the mountain was filled with trees gloriously changing color, grazing deer, and little glimpses of actual water in an actual river, the town itself was not exactly dynamic.

The area was originally home to the Apache Nation. Fewer than 100 people live there now, an adobe church whose original construction dates to 1899 sits at its heart, and an enormous horse ranch that looks like the only money in town takes up most of the land.

Miners from Silver City and Pino Altos founded the tiny town, and their hand-made brick structures still stand. Most of the buildings in town are abandoned, hence its “ghost town” fame, while the locals prefer (and achieved) the designation “Historic District.”

*The hand-made bricks tell such a story. Fascinating to see bits of straw and little rocks in their construction.*

We crossed the valley into the next small town because Simon was eager to find a Starbucks, or at least a decent coffee shop, but you already know the outcome of that forlorn hope.

Our next excursion was Rockhound State Park in the Little Florida Mountains (here pronounced Flow-REED-uh from its Spanish influence) just south of Deming, and the park’s information center lady showed us the various rocks that visitors are allowed to collect, from obsidian and quartz to sparkly geodes and the wonderfully named “thunder eggs,” which, of course, Susan was determined to find.

*For perspective, that boulder in the semi-foreground, on the right, is about as high as Ruthie would be if she stood on her hind legs on Simon’s shoulders.*

Once we were in the dry wash where geodes and thunder eggs are typically found, we immediately realized all rocks look like rocks and we hadn’t a hope in hell of finding anything interesting without cracking them all open.

After a short wander, we drove over to next-door neighbor Spring Canyon Recreation Area, where we were told we might find gigantic-horned Persian Ibex, which were brought to the area from Iran way back when, and had recently been spotted. We didn’t see any (of course we didn’t!), but we did marvel at the 17% grade into and out of the park, which was like a roller coaster hill in Nippy, but would have been a horror in Fati.

*The 17% grade doesn’t look nearly as daunting in a photo as it does in real life. It’s a LONG way down!*

Minor attractions done, our next journey took us to Gila National Forest, the reason we were staying in Deming in the first place. It was a 236-mile round-trip drive, via Silver City, and the Visitor Center lady in Silver City told us we should not miss Catwalk Recreation Area on our way to the Gila Cliff Dwellings. Just head up U.S.-180 to the western side of Gila, and be ready for a short delay due to construction.

*Silver City is a mining town, and that dump truck is gigantic. Its tires are 6 feet tall, maybe a bit taller.*

We had already noted a sign in town that indicated the Cliff Dwellings were just 44 miles away, and our good lady mentioned Catwalk Recreation Area would come up first, so off we went.

*New Mexico has to be the artsiest state we’ve been in so far. Even their license plates are pretty.*

Sixty-five beautiful but confused miles later we saw the first sign for Catwalk, along with an extensive construction area that required us to follow a Pilot car along a couple of miles of torn-up road. Half an hour later we were walking through crunchy leaves along a fall-scented trail in Gila National Forest toward the metal catwalks that are the modern-day descendants of the original wooden planks over Whitewater Canyon creek, which gave the area its name.

*But it would be worth it in a few minutes.*

Silver and gold were discovered above the canyon, and mined for ten years, starting in the late 1890s. A pipe transporting water up to the processing plant ran through the canyon, and that’s the area visitors are now allowed to explore via catwalks.

*Catwalk starts with a trail along the river, and it was nice to see water, which is scarce around here.*

*Part of the walkway wound through rocky areas above the river.*

We spent more than an hour walking through the canyon and having a picnic lunch amid a scent that reminded us of Michigan in autumn. What an incredible surprise the experience had been, and how grateful we were for the recommendation. We absolutely would not have wanted to miss it.

As we picnicked, we programmed Gila Cliff Dwellings into our GPS. It couldn’t be far away, since we’d already gone 21 miles further than that sign back in town indicated we would.

But wait. GPS showed another 111 miles to the dwellings. What the….?!

We were on the wrong road. U.S.-180 did indeed lead to Catwalk, but the cliff dwellings were up highway 15, on the eastern side of Gila National Park. We’ll say no more about the matter, other than that we consoled ourselves with the fact that dogs are not allowed on the trail to the dwellings, so we wouldn’t have to leave Ruthie in the car, and that we found superb dessert-flavored coffees at Javalina Coffee Shop back in Silver City to take the edge off our misery on the way back to Deming.

We were definitely on the right road when we made the trip south to Pancho Villa State Park, a little nod to America’s first (and only) armed invasion, compliments of General Francisco “Pancho” Villa, who ordered his soldiers to wreak havoc way back in 1916. General Pershing (of WWI fame) unleashed a massive can of whoop-ass, leading 3.000 soldiers 5,000 miles into Mexico in pursuit of Pancho Villa, only to fail miserably. Villa got his comeuppance a few years later, assassinated in an ambush in Chihuahua.

*Tanks have evolved a bit since Pancho’s day.*

*The last remaining homestead at the park. It’s pretty much the only thing here, besides the museum and the tank. And cactus. And rocks.*

Deming claims the park as its own, but it’s really located in Columbus, smack on the border with Mexico. While we were there, why not take a look at the crossing? We’d seen it in Douglas, Arizona, while we were staying in Willcox, and in that instance we drove along the wall until we saw the crossing area, where a big gap was open in the wall to allow those working in the U.S. but living in Mexico to move between countries.

Here, the only road for 33 miles led directly to the crossing, which we obviously could not do, especially with a dog. We had no options other than turning around and heading back to Fati, and common sense told us not to take photos.

Instead, here are a few rather unusual sites in Douglas.

*Hands up anyone who would order a burrito from a bus in the middle of nowhere!*

Strings of red chili peppers are such a wonderful constant in the places we’ve been. Susan’s parents brought one back from their travels to New Mexico and had it hanging next to the kitchen, so emotions were felt when we saw them.

Deming had one more gift in store. Along with a string of multi-colored lights we bought at Walmart to decorate our fireplace in Fati, we got into the holiday spirit by attended the city’s Christmas Market in the afternoon (a short experience, with only a small handful of vendors and even fewer visitors) and attending the Christmas parade and Tree Lighting that evening.

*Ruthie did some low-grade “wooooooo”-ing when the police car and fire engine sirens passed by, kicking off the parade.*

*The Grinch featured heavily. He was in the parade five or six times.*

*Santa was on hand to wish everyone a very Merry Christmas!*

The parade was so charming and homespun and nostalgic, it may have been our favorite surprise of the whole week. We attended the Christmas Tree Lighting afterwards, and departed Deming the next day feeling very much in the holiday spirit.

What We Learned During Our Seventh Month On The Road

Today marks seven months since we locked the door to our house in Florida and set off for a year-long adventure in an RV. Here’s what we learned during the past month:

Time spent in the bathroom is sacred time, at home or in an RV. But if you’re really just sitting there playing Wordscape on the phone for forty minutes, you deserve the scorn you get when you’re found out.

Simon now knows the bathroom isn’t the right place to play Wordscape.

Get an electric skillet with a cover, and get it before you even set off on your trip. What strange and wonderful wizardry that allows you make an entire meal in one appliance! Gone are your days of flipping one burger or one pancake in the Instant Pot set to Saute. Life has meaning again!

You’ll never run out of conversation when you travel. The only time we’re quiet when we’re touring is when we’re burned out from so much talking. Some of the most compelling conversations we’ve had have come from seeing places – usually very small towns or areas where housing is spread far apart – that make us feel our privilege in ways we never did before. Not financial privilege, specifically, but the privilege of opportunity. And we wonder, are the people happy and content? Do they love their freedom and their solitude? Is this their desired life? Or has opportunity been denied to them? We come at it with our life-experience bias, and talk our way around to wider possibilities.

Visiting the desert during dry season is disorienting, and it’s hard to get used to seeing rivers and creeks with no water in them. As Mark Twain said, “Until I came to New Mexico I never realized how much beauty water adds to a river.”

Remember back in the early months, when you struggled to keep the fridge cold? Yeah, well, it’s winter now, and your fridge has become a freezer.

Literally (and we do mean literally) every restaurant in Hatch, New Mexico closes at 3 p.m. Plan accordingly or you’ll be eating “Mexican food” from the Village Market grocery store deli.

The Green Chili Stew from Village Market’s deli is pretty good!

Arizona and New Mexico have more mountains than we expected, and some of them are whoppers. Check your preconceptions at the border when you enter a new state. Surprises await!

We knew the desert gets cold at night, but really? 21F? That’s not cold, that’s Arctic! Unplug the water hose from spigot; drain water lines; wear a shirt, pants, and socks to bed; and add your robe to the five layers of blankets you already have on the bed. Oh, and your coffee or tea the next morning will be cold within three minutes. Welcome to winter.

Walmarts in New Mexico have loads of Mexican candy right before Christmas. Taste-testing results? Mixed.

With so much mountain driving behind us, Simon now has a quiet confidence while driving Fati, without relaxing his guard or taking safety for granted. Susan can sit in the passenger seat without gripping the arm rests for dear life. As of right now, this single minute, assuming nothing, travel is an absolute pleasure.

Posole (Mexican pork and hominy stew) is a gift from God. Eat it and know you are loved!

Farewell, Arizona

Willcox, Arizona offered a chance to catch our breath, keep our touring low-key, and end our time in the state on a relaxed note. We expected to spend most of our time “at home,” with a few afternoon jaunts before dinner and a movie each night in Fati. And while that was partially true, we all know what they say about the best-laid plans.

We started our five-day stay at the fabulous Willcox-Cochise AZ, KOA Holiday campground with dinner from the onsite Roadrunner Kafé, where the pizza we ordered was delivered right to our door, hot and delicious. We’d been excited to have a patio with a real table and chairs, an outdoor grill (oh, happy day!), and a fire pit. The unexpectedly cold weather had other ideas, but if we return to this area, we’ll make sure we do it when it’s sunny and pleasant so we can make full use of those fabulous amenities.

We didn’t really have plans for touring the area, but we did want to visit the “sky islands” of Chiricahua National Monument, where enormous rock formations tower high above Bonita Canyon. Apache – who at one time did not use that pejorative term (from the Spanish interpretation of the Zuni word meaning “enemy”) in reference to themselves, but instead use the name “Nde,” meaning “the people” – lived here while it was still a part of Mexico, prior to settlement by emigrant families from Canada, Ireland, and Sweden.

*Looking down into the canyon from the top of the mountain, we wondered if this is what Bryce Canyon may have looked like at one point.*

A band of coatimundi had been spotted that morning, so we should watch for them, said the woman at the Visitor Center. Black bear, rattlesnakes, whitetail deer, mountain lions, and other large mammals live here, too, but the only wildlife we saw was a lone deer.

Driving around Willcox the next day, we braved a rough road that led to a derelict cemetery just outside town, where Warren Earp was buried.

*The desert is definitely taking back the cemetery grounds.*

Warren was the youngest of the Earp brothers and, having avoided the shootout at the O.K. Corral in Tombstone, he jumped right in to help his brother Wyatt and their buddy Doc Holliday take revenge for the later killing of his brother Morgan before fleeing Arizona, only to land in Willcox years later, get stupid drunk, and take a bullet through the heart compliments of a patron of the saloon where Earp was over-imbibing. The shooter was acquitted on grounds of self-defense.

The nearly-forgotten cemetery told the story of Willcox’s early days, when people died too young; some far too young.

Also just outside town is the Willcox Playa Wildlife Area where, we’d heard, we might spot Sandhill Cranes arriving at their winter migration grounds. Understatement of the decade. There were thousands and thousands, with more arriving every minute. We spent two evenings at the wildlife area watching them flying in over the mountains in great, long lines.

Many of you have probably seen Simon’s videos of their arrival. If not, here are a couple of videos from our YouTube channel.

Then, because we can’t help ourselves when there is touring to be done, we paid a visit to Bisbee, on the border with Mexico, the day before leaving Willcox.

Bisbee was a mining town, and Simon spent a long time looking at the open mine while Susan mainly waited in the car.

*That’s a small lake at the bottom, which gives you an idea of how huge the pit is.*

The semi-abandoned but totally adorable Lowell was just a couple of blocks away. It’s a tiny throwback to a kinder, gentler time, from the storefronts down to the old-timey cars parked along the curbs.

It was here that we also got our first look at the border wall between the U.S. and Mexico, just a few miles south of Bisbee, in Douglas.

On the way back to Willcox we stopped at Whitewater Draw, where some of the Sandhill Cranes spend the day before flying over the mountain range to Willcox. Here, we watched them take off and make that journey.

*The marshy area is chock-full of Sandhill Cranes.*

*Ruthie seemed content to watch the birds prepare for their nightly migration.*

We were ready to move on when morning came. We’d spent 49 days in Arizona – the most in any state so far – and we headed toward New Mexico feeling we’d learned so much about this part of the southwest, which had surprised and delighted us so often.

Air, Space, And The Silver Screen

Most of our touring focuses on natural areas, National Parks, small towns, history, and getting a flavor of how people really live in this country’s diverse landscapes. We do occasionally visit “attractions,” and Tucson had two Simon was eager to see.

Pima Air and Space Museum features about 400 historical aircraft, and we spent about two hours wandering through the indoor and outdoor exhibits. We’ll just show you a few, though if you’re a fan of aircraft this is certainly a must-visit place.

*Susan was delighted to see the exhibits began with suckers, squeezers, bangers, and blowers.*

*There was even one just the right size for Ruthie.*

The museum extends outdoors, where a massive yard displays more than 100 aircraft.

Everyone wants to see the 377-SG “Super Guppy.” This freaky style of plane has been used to transport big, light cargo, including Saturn rocket parts during the Apollo Program.

There were several versions of Air Force One, the airplane used by U.S. Presidents. This one was used by both President John F. Kennedy and his successor, President Lyndon B. Johnson.

But our sentimental favorite was the Wright Flyer. We were fortunate enough to have been given a ride in the Wright B Flyer when we were in Dayton, Ohio, and during that visit we also spent time with the Wright brothers’ great grandniece Amanda, and their great grandnephew Stephen, who gave us a tour of Wilber and Orville’s home, Hawthorne Hill. With wine.

*That thing above the sign that looks like a paper and balsa wood airplane is the Wright Flyer. Would you fly in it?*

*Susan just getting ready for take-off!*

From the high-tech to the wild west, our next adventure was Old Tucson film set and “themed park.” Here, actors including John Wayne, Clint Eastwood, Jimmy Stewart, and even Frank Sinatra and Ronald Reagan acted in movie and television scenes that spanned hundreds of productions.

Old Tucson’s new management no longer allows dogs, so Susan and Ruthie headed back up the road for more time in Saguaro National Park. Simon will take over this part of the blog:

Old Tucson had been on my (Simon’s) radar since we first put Arizona on our 12-month map. If you were to put together the Top 5 of all-time Western settings, Tucson would be very close to the top, hence anywhere that celebrated that heritage was going to be high on my list of places to visit. And so it proved.

Old Tucson is both an attraction and a movie set; an amalgam of 84 years of acting as a time capsule of the 1860s. Since the first movie was filmed here in 1939, it has played host to dozens of other big-screen productions, as well as numerous TV shows, including Little House on the Prairie and The High Chaparral. It was a setting beloved by John Wayne and Robert Mitchum, as well as countless movie crews who adored its authentic period style. In the 1980s, it was second only to the Grand Canyon as Arizona’s main attraction.

It has been open to the public since 1960 as a themed attraction, and today it’s possible to take guided tours of the whole site, in addition to just visiting for their special events at different times of the year (notably for Halloween and the Holidays). And what a trip down Memory Lane it proved to be.

Having grown up on “cowboy films,” including all four Wayne movies that were shot here in the 1960s (McClintock, Rio Bravo, Rio Lobo, and El Dorado), it was like revisiting my childhood, seeing the iconic settings for that quartet, as well as many other visual references to the Western genre. Our tour guide was a non-stop source of info and anecdotes, including a series of continuity blunders and other errors made by the film-makers themselves!

*The iconic mountains in the background showed up in two completely different geographic locations in the same movie.*

The city of Tucson still has echoes of its 19th century roots in the Barrio Viejo section of the city, but it doesn’t come close to the three-dimensional reality and nostalgia of Old Tucson. The tour lasted almost 90 minutes from start to finish (it was listed as 45-60 minutes, but the tour guide growled, “I’ve never finished a tour in 45 minutes in my life!”), and it was a brilliant insight into the living history of the Western.

It is still being used as a movie and TV venue today, for Westerns and non-Westerns alike, hence you may see it in films such as Revenge of the Nerds, Terminal Velocity, and Nemesis, in addition to appearances on TV for programs like Good Morning America, various quiz shows, and others.

*Exterior used in High Chaparral TV series*

But it’s the Western back-drops that make Old Tucson special and, if you’re coming here for nostalgia and insight, you’re definitely on the right stagecoach!

(Susan here again) On the way back to Tucson Simon wanted to recreate a photo he remembered from our first trip over the mountain pass on our way to Saguaro National Park. Simon remembered it well, describing the two of us smiling in front of a big saguaro cactus, and the railing near where we were standing. I didn’t remember it at all. I think you’ll agree we nailed it.

*2008*: *The reality. Why is there a lake behind Simon? Because in reality, the photo he remembered was taken on the way to Tortilla Flat, not Saguaro National Park.*

As our days in Tucson drew to a close, we also fulfilled another experience on Simon’s wish list (and mine) with a night-time visit to Spencer’s Observatory, where we had the small observatory and its resident astronomer to ourselves.

*The observatory’s outdoor waiting area. Red lights help your eyes adjust to the darkness ahead of your viewing.*

We so wish we had photos of the absolute magnificence we saw through the telescope. Saturn first, then the Moon, then Jupiter, each so clear we could hardly believe the images were real. Saturn’s rings were perfectly distinct. Three of Jupiter’s moons and its iconic red bands were easily visible. And the moon? You know it so well, from earliest childhood, but seeing each of its craters and mountains in sharp relief is next-level mind-blowing.

We’d been through 19 states, into Canada, along the border with Mexico, and now, 921.03 million miles into space. It was truly one of those experiences that burns into your brain and never leaves you.

Tucson On A Plate

Tucson offered a smorgasbord of culinary delights after months spent in places where restaurants are few and far between, and where our lunches often consisted of nothing more than a chewy bar to hold us until dinner. These are the standouts that made us feel human again.

Note, we didn’t use our camera’s flash because we didn’t want to disturb other diners, so most of our photos are dark. Consider it “ambiance.” We’ve added some media photos when ours were just TOO gloomy.

The Coronet

With Ruthie in tow, our meal was taken in the lovely courtyard at the back of the restaurant, where lush greenery and live music took us from the dry desert to a place of relaxed enchantment. It really did feel like an oasis in which to enjoy a superb meal.

We started with cocktails – gin-based Occidental for Susan and Barrio Negroni for Simon – and paired them with a shared Oyster Mushroom Tempura, a plateful of big, beefy mushrooms with a delicate flavor, lightly coated in crisp-fried tempura, on a bed of pickled melon and green papaya salad.

Simon had the Herbs de Provance Crusted Sea Bass, featuring a lovely fish from the Sea of Cortez, with three sharp, briny mussels so soft they were almost like ceviche. Alongside was a single grilled corn panisse (like a polenta, deep fried and made with chickpea flour) which added a distinct, fresh flavor.

Susan opted for the vegetarian Glazed Delicata Squash, a succulent combination of one-half of the aforementioned squash, cut lengthwise and still in its rind, glazed with maple and pomegranate, generously topped with tiny black lentils and surrounded by a bed of red pepper ajvar and herbed lemon yoghurt. Half of a deep-fried artichoke heart added a crunchy counterpoint.

One of us can’t resist dessert after a great meal (Simon. It’s Simon), and in this instance he couldn’t decide between two: the Orange Date Cake (moist cake with a crumble top sitting on citrus cream, with smoked caramelized banana, and fresh fruits) or Every Part Of The Corn (pillowy corn flan, crisp blue masa atole, nixtamal cracker, caramelized corn silk, and mulberry gastrique), so he got both. Of the two, we agreed we could eat the Orange Date Cake every single day for the rest of our lives.

Cup Café at Hotel Congress

Simon loves a big breakfast. Susan prefers a light start to the day. Located in downtown Tucson’s Hotel Congress (built in 1919 and listed on the National Register of Historic Places), Cup Café delivered both, with reasonable portions of healthy food that didn’t overwhelm our digestive systems.

Susan had the Quiche du Jour, which delivered a power-packed punch of Mediterranean flavors through its blend of olives, feta, sweet peppers, onion, and spinach enveloped in soft, airy egg, with a crisp crust. Mixed greens in a tart vinaigrette, with sliced strawberries and slivered almonds, added a sharp contrast to the mellow quiche.

Simon opted for the luxury version of avocado toast with his order of Barrio Toast. Smashed avocado, grilled tomato, and two poached eggs topped toasted bread (locally sourced at Barrio Bread bakery), and the same mixed greens were served on the side.

We sat on the patio with our dog, but the restaurant inside is pleasant and sort of Aztec-ey. Under other circumstances, we would have planted there and lingered for quite some time.

Baja Café

*Snickerdoodle Pancakes*
_{(Photo Credit: Jackie Tran, Baja Cafe)}

When a restaurant’s signature dish is the Snickerdoodle Pancake, you know you’re in for some creative dining.

Simon went for the Classic Huevos Rancheros and Susan had another house specialty, Corned Beef and Eggs.

*Corned Beef and Eggs*
_{(Photo Credit: Jackie Tran, Baja Cafe)}

The corned beef was actual chunks of meat, not the shredded stuff with machine-chopped potato squares, proving it was made in-house with the kind of love and attention that shows in its taste.

*Huevos Classic*
_{(Photo Credit: Jackie Tran, Baja Cafe)}

Both dishes were so hearty we didn’t eat again until dinner at 7 p.m., and even then we only had bread and cheese. The breakfast of champions!

Wildflower American Café

After recovering for a few days from all the great food we’d eaten, we ventured out to this delightful establishment, having skipped lunch so we’d be ready for a big meal. We sat on the patio, but had we been dog-free we would have dined in the elegant, busy dining room, with its air of refinement we’d been missing from home.

Susan uncharacteristically ordered a starter when the smokey Grilled Artichoke with aioli proved too tempting. It was so beautifully charred, the aioli was left untouched. Simon went for cold smoked salmon with chive crème fraiche and potato galette.

Pasta is pretty much a once-or-twice-a-year thing for Susan, but our server promised the Spinach Pappardelle (roasted chicken slices, melted tomato, pine nuts, grana Padano) would not be huge and overwhelming. Thank goodness, because, oh, the lusciousness of that nutty, tomatoey dish!

Simon was on a seafood kick, and chose Lemongrass Skewered Scallops on a bed of “forbidden” black rice, with sautéed snap peas and soy butter, which left room in his belly for sweet, silky Banoffee Trifle. We both left feeling we’d been royally treated.

Seis Kitchen

Everything we’d eaten so far was excellent, but our final day in Tucson hit every “right” note for us. We’d been wanting something authentically Mexican, and with a line out the door, Seis Kitchen was the perfect choice.

Diners place their orders at a window, then they’re directed to a table in the courtyard. When it’s ready, their meal is delivered to their table and the joy begins.

It will be obvious to those of you who know us that we didn’t order all of the food we tried. Let’s just say some kindness came into it via Visit Tucson, and the restaurant pulled out all the stops to ensure we had a taste of what they do best (cue the Garrison Keiler phrase, “All the women are strong, all the men are good-looking, and all the children are above average.” Everything Seis Kitchen does is “best”).

House-made tortilla chips with two fresh salsas and guacamole kicked things off, and then plates of tacos began to arrive. We sampled sweet chili-marinated pork with pineapple; smokey chipotle chicken with avocado, crema, cilantro and queso fresco; and marinated flank steak with pico de gallo and queso fresco.

Three more tacos showed up, one filled with beer-battered avocado, cilantro, cabbage, and cheese (don’t argue with me; get this one no matter what else you try); slow-cooked pork with pickled onion and avocado salsa curd; and Mexican beer-battered fish with the same toppings as the avocado.

Strawberry-Lime Fresco and the creamy deliciousness of Horchata (with a seasonal Pumpkin Spice Horchata follow-up) washed it all down, the scrummiest churros we’ve ever had ended the meal, and oh my lord god sweet baby Jesus, did we enjoy every bite! If we lived in Tucson we’d each weigh five tons, because we’d eat there every day.

This is a long blog, and if you’ve made it this far you’ve done well. If you made it this far without heading to the kitchen for something wonderful to snack on as your belly rumbled, you’ve done even better.

Tucson is the place for a fine meal, and while our photos are lousy, our memories of those outstanding restaurants are brilliant.

How I Ended Up Wearing My Husband’s Underwear, With Lysol All Over My Feet

Posting this story has become an annual Thanksgiving tradition. It happened several years ago. There are no photos because some things should never be seen.

It’s 4 a.m. and I should be sleeping soundly, getting my energy back after two days of cooking in preparation for the big Thanksgiving feast tomorrow (today). Instead, I’m sitting at my computer, counting down 10 minutes, because that’s how long it takes Lysol to kill food-borne pathogens.

All I had to do was empty the brine bucket at 3 a.m., six hours after immersing what will surely be a glorious turkey when it’s cooked to 170 degrees (just to be sure) and presented lovingly to my family. A quick bleaching of the sink, return the turkey to the fridge, and Bob’s your uncle; off to sleepy-land again.

I knew the brine bucket was full. Like, really full. So I was careful, because, as we all know, cross contamination is an ugly thing. The plastic bag I put the bucket on in the fridge, however, had other ideas.

The brine sloshed out of the bucket onto the plastic bag, the plastic bag hit the floor, and a poultry-infused mess splattered everywhere. It left a trail from the refrigerator to the sink, soaking the kitchen floor. It drained down my shirt, into my underwear, down my legs, and all over the counter. A literal trail of horror and unhappiness.

There may be some among you who would do a quick mop-up and think no more of it. That’s not me. Every single drop of cross-contamination welled up around me, like oceans of food-borne illness waiting to happen.

The bleach bottle was in the laundry room, which meant tracking brine through two rooms, cross-contaminating one-quarter of the downstairs portion of my home. But there was no escaping it. I had to do it, and I had to keep track of every single thing my hands, my feet, and my shirt touched during the round-trip journey.

The next hour was spent bleaching the floor, the sink, the counters, my feet, the faucet, the refrigerator, and the laundry tub.

My clothes, of course, had to come off, and I had to wash myself with hot, soapy water to avoid further cross-contamination. All I had was laundry soap, but it would have to do. Mercifully, the tablecloth I was going to launder was still on the washing machine, so I wrapped up in it, just in case anyone came out of their bedroom to see what the hell I was doing. The only thing that would make this night worse was to have my loved ones watch me run through the house naked.

I didn’t want to wake Simon by opening my underwear drawer once I reached the bedroom, so I rooted through the laundry basket, but only found a pair of his old tighty whities. The ones he wears when he’s doing sweaty yard work. They would have to do. I grabbed a clean shirt, put it on, and went back to sanitizing.

Bleach is good, but Lysol is better. I should own stock in Lysol. Just the smell of it makes me relax, and since the required 5 minutes it takes bleach to kill salmonella had passed and the floor was almost dry, it was time to put my best friend to work.

Methodically, like a woman who knows what she’s doing (the kind of woman who wouldn’t have filled that damned brine bucket up to the top in the first place), I sprayed my microscopic enemies and took pleasure in hearing the last of them die.

So, that’s how I came to be sitting at my computer wearing my husband’s underwear, with Lysol all over my feet. It should only take one or two episodes of Are You Being Served to get me back to sleep again, but there are some things you know you’re going to live again and again in your nightmares for several years to come.

I CAN chuckle appreciatively at the fact that the clean shirt I am wearing reads, Nevertheless, She Persisted, but you can be damned sure I’m getting a bigger turkey-brine bucket on Friday.

Happy Thanksgiving. I wish each and every one of you a blessed day and a safe, healthy meal.

Kind regards,
Susan

Javelina: Arizona’s Big Lie

We’ve been in Tucson for exactly one week. We’ve gone out every day – morning, evening, all day long – and every time we’re out we scan the desert’s scrub, the washes, and the roadsides for javelina. Today, we’ve finally accepted the fact that these fat, smelly animals are a lie, and do not exist. At all.

“They’re everywhere!” people assured us. “They get into my trash bins,” one man said. Signs at Pima Air and Space Museum warned us we might encounter some. But we didn’t. Why? Because they don’t exist.

Like the illusive jackalope, they’re a myth perpetrated on gullible tourists. You, like us, probably saw jackalope in backwoods diners, their antlered bunny heads hanging on the wall like some rare and desirable trophy. And you, like us, probably believed –oh, innocent you! – they could, maybe, be real.

There was a time when sailors making years-long voyages believed they were seeing mermaids, and told their loved ones back home about these sirens of the sea. What embarrassment they must have felt when those who took to the water for short excursions only found manatees.

We share that shame, having rejoiced at seeing herds of javelina that simply fell under the category of wishful thinking. Each time, they’ve turned out to be brown, barrel-shaped cactuses.

And, like manatees and mermaids, that’s probably exactly how the not-trueness of javelinas got started. They’re both brown and prickly, and you don’t want to get too close to them when you’re out hiking in the desert.

We didn’t want to draw the only logical conclusion (javelina = lie) so Simon suggested we make double use of a visit to Seguaro National Park West, which we hadn’t seen yet, and enjoy the park as evening drew close, then stay on until dusk; prime javelina hours.

We made a point of asking for expert advice when we reached the park’s Visitor Center, four minutes before it closed. Where, for the love of gawd, should we go to see the illusive herbivore that looks like a pig but isn’t?

*Perfect javelina territory. No javelinas.*

“Just go right out to the overlook here,” our good man told us, pointing at a second-story platform connected to the center. “They travel up and down the wash just beyond it in the evening.”

Yay! Finally – FINALLY! – our dream of achieving this precious sighting would come true!

Binoculars and cameras at the ready, we marveled at the sunset that lit up the sky like fire in the direction of California and Mexico, while scanning the wash for activity.

An hour later it was so dark we couldn’t have seen a javelina even if it really did exist. The lie was revealed.

Sure, we saw a “dead” one along the highway on our way to San Xavier del Bac Mission, but it was probably just a stuffed toy thrown out the car window by some careless child. We no longer believed.

We have one more week in Tucson, but frankly, our hearts are hardened. There is only so much pain and disappointment we can take.