Tombstone to Tucson

Today has been a good, but short, day. I wake up early in order to get to the Pima Air and Space Museum early. There are two tours of the Boneyard (an airplane graveyard) a day, and the tickets go on a first come, first served basis, so I aim to get there when it opens at 9am (it’s a good thing I do as the places do go quickly!).

I shower, head out for breakfast in a deserted Tombstone, only to find it opens at 7 so I head back, finish packing and get ready to go, then head back out for a slightly smaller (one less egg and no hash brown) breakfast than yesterday. I’m a bit sad to leave the friendly cowboys who always say hello, but I’m also looking forward to the day. I think I prefer Tombstone in the early morning or late night – I have it to myself then (bar cowboys and country music) and it’s peaceful and picturesque.

I drop my key in a box and think it’s a shame I can’t thank the owner for being so friendly, then hit the road. Not much happens on the road except more grasshoppers. Later in the evening I read an email from my Mum who says the grasshoppers might be locusts. I’ve no idea what a locust looks like, other than something grasshopper-like, so do a Google and I’m now 99% sure that they are indeed locusts. Well I never (edit in Jan 2014: found out they are horse lubber grasshoppers). I forgot to say that yesterday I was driving slowly with my window open and could actually hear them crunch when I drove over them. It made me feel rather sick, to be honest. There are only so many crunches you can hear.

Anyway, I arrive at the museum at 8.50 and there are already people waiting outside. We head in and buy our tickets. I get a tour of the outdoor museum and the Boneyard tour. They also have indoor hangers so I spend an hour looking at the aircraft in them first. The obvious plane to mention is the SR-71A, the Blackbird. It’s a magnificent thing.

The drone used on Blackbirds

It flew from New York to L.A in an hour and 8 minutes. No bad. There are many, many more aircraft, all of which are perfectly symmetrical and beautiful. The staff, who are all old men and I presume most, if not all, are all vets from Vietnam, Korea and so on, as they all seem to have first-hand knowledge of the planes. They are all absolutely lovely and I welcome them approaching me to ask if I’d like to know more. It must be a fantastic job.

My first tour starts at 10.30 so we load on the trolley and off we go. It’s an hour long trip outside, and our guide is a chatty man who tells us of his experiences and what almost every plane did. The vast majority of the aircraft have seen action, so it’s just fascinating to listen to him and look at the craft. It’s hot and sunny and a brilliant way to spend 60 minutes. After this, I only have time to drop my bag in my car and get back to the next tour.

In all honesty, I was a little disappointed with the Boneyard tour. It’s my own fault. I knew it was an active base so why I thought we’d have more time or be able to get out and see the planes up close I’m not sure. We’re sped through the grounds and the only way to take photos is through the bus windows. It’s good to see but just not close enough. Again, the driver and tour guide have both served and tell us good stories about the planes. The Boneyard is split in to two. On one side there are planes that might serve again, and on the other are those for scrap. We go through both halves, and see the relatively new laser airplanes, that used lasers to shoot down enemy craft. I’m not sure why they were decommissioned so soon, but even the ones here, 3 of them, are due to be fully dismantled by next year.

We pass all kinds of aircraft, helicopters and even some space stuff. It’s neat, as you might say.

We’re dropped back off at the main building and I have some lunch outside with a view of various aircraft. Cool. I then wander around the grounds I went around on the first tour. I get up close to the aircraft and actually get to touch them. I find this fascinating. It’s not every day you get to run your hand over a B-29, Air Force One, a Super Guppy, and a Hercules. Again, it’s almost just me. There are two other girls I run in to occasionally, but for the most, it’s just me.

An NB-52. Big thing

An old Air Force One

Ello!

They're shiny

These things are huge. All of the bombers, the cargo planes, the NASA aircraft and many others can fit me, standing fully upright, easily under their wings. Easily.

A Super Guppy

I stand under the Super Guppy. See the front wheel to the right? I'm about to balance my camera on itThere you go

In some cases, two of me. I feel a bit naughty under the wings – and in some cases right under the fuselage – as whenever I get to walk on a runway on a commercial flight there are cones under the tips of the wings to stop you from walking under them. I take advantage and walk under as many wings and fuselages as possible.

A Hercules

One of my favourites. A Beech UC-45J Expeditor

I head over to the other hangers which are filled with older aircraft, absolutely beautiful bombers and a Hurricane, which is very cool (too bad they don’t have a Spitfire).

A guide takes me around the B-24 they have, and tells me it was used during D-Day, which really gets me going. We check out the inside, and he says how every rivet is put in by hand, and back in the day, 52 of these babies rolled off the production line – a day. A day! It’s amazing.

The B-29 is the same kind of plane as the Enola Gay – the plane that dropped The Bomb. 

The bomb bays are gigantic. I had no idea. There’s a film running showing the bombs raining down. It’s a sad and stark reminder that while these things are beautiful, they’re built for destruction. It’s sobering. They all might have seen action, but all that action was terrible.

Gives you an idea of the size

Inside one of the bomb bays. Spacious things

I get totally lost in it all. There’s one old man who has taken a liking to me (I think it might be something to do with the fact that I’m the only woman under 50 in here), and he helps me off the bus, and off the pavement, and squeezes my hand. He’s lovely.

After almost 6 hours – if I’m honest, the longest I’ve spent in any museum – I think it’s time to go. I say my goodbyes and head to the car which I tried to park strategically but clearly had no idea what I was doing as it’s had the sun on it all day and is baking.

My next stop is not too far from here, just around the corner actually. Jan Taarnberg from Urbex Adventures gave me some coordinates to see a plane that was on public ground, which was very kind of him (all I had done was comment on a Facebook picture), but alas, when I got there, all was behind fences. Such is life.

I then head to my motel for the night. My GPS takes me through Tucson, instead of around it, which means a much longer drive but also lets me see Tucson. I don’t remember much of it from 1999. I think there was beer. I’ve no desire to hang out in the city. My focus is on getting in a pool and getting acclimatised to the fact that I’m heading home.

I get to the motel and am already sick of cities and the traffic and noise. I hear police sirens and realise they’re the first I’ve heard since New York, two weeks ago.

I swim, I sit, and I repack. I head out for dinner and then back to my room. Tomorrow I make my way to Phoenix, via Florence, Casa Grande, and a Frank Lloyd Wright house that is a private home, but I’ll spy on it anyway. Then, it’s airport. How strange.

I’m winding down and definitely looking forward to getting in to my home, and being around my one and only, but if anything, this trip has only cemented my love for Arizona. Virtually every place I’ve been, I’ve left thinking that I need more time. Horseback riding in Canyon de Chelly, a rim to rim in Grand Canyon, a 10 day raft on the Colorado, more time in the mountains around Alpine, hikes in Monument Valley, and even more back roads! While I’m ever grateful for tarmac, I feel as if I’ve seen some of Arizona that a lot don’t see, and I just want to see more.

Anyway, before I go off on one, I should stop writing. My flight leaves at 11.38pm tomorrow, so I’ve one last day. I’ll make it a good one. 

Tombstone

It’s a bit unfair to call this post Tombstone when actually I spent most of the day outside of Tombstone.

I went out for a breakfast which was huge. Two eggs, bacon, hash brown, toast and two cups of coffee. I was pretty surprised that I ate it all considering I had just eaten a half-rack of very meaty ribs the night before. But there you go.

After breakfast, for which, by the way, I was surrounded by cowboys, I head back to my room for a Skype and to pack my bag for the day. It’s hot and sunny today and my mood is vastly improved from yesterday. I’m OK with leaving. Yes, I could stay, but home calls, and that’s nothing but good.

I head out to visit Boothill Cemetery, the old Tombstone cemetery from 1878 where a number of Tombstone’s famous and infamous old residents are buried. It’s very close and very good. It was used up until 1884 then fell into neglect until some Tombstone residents decided it was time to sort it out. Years of hard work, tracking down relatives, searching through archives and such have paid off, if you ask me. Some superb graves providing a fascinating image of the west as it was – the vast majority have been shot.

The brothers who were shot at the OK Corral

From Boothill I head to Fairbank, a ghost town not far outside of Tombstone. My hopes are high but realistically, given my recent history of ghost towns, I’m not too expectant. Good job too as Fairbank, while definitely a ghost down, doesn’t have much going on. I see a trail sign saying I can walk to the old cemetery or the old mill, and decide to give the cemetery a go – it’s closer, after all. I walk and walk and walk.

The going is slow as there are around a quadzillion grasshoppers. I’ve never seen so many. With every step I take, a thousand of the things jump out of my way, and rustle in the bushes. The inevitable happens, and one jumps and falls between my foot and my flip-flop and I squish it with my foot. At least it wasn’t one of the big ones. The sign at the start of the trail told me to watch out for poisonous animals so every rustle I hear is either a rattlesnake or some kind of tarantula coming to get me. The path is so overgrown and so filled with grasshoppers that I find a branch and use it to sweep the ground ahead to scare away any monsters. Call me paranoid but I’m the middle of nowhere and I’m very much aware that if – albeit it a big if – I get bitten, things could go wrong. It’s very exciting.

The sign said it was 0.4 miles to the cemetery. I don’t know if a mile is a different thing in America, but it wasn’t 0.4 miles. It also said the mill was 1.2 miles, which I thought was too far but after a while I round the corner and there’s the mill. Oh well. There’s not much, but I climb about and take some photos.

Nice view

I head back, pretty happy that I’m on the way back. I pass a couple who are just marching through the undergrowth, clearly not afraid of poisonous creatures and I feel a bit silly with my stick. We have a chat and they tell me the path to the cemetery is completely overgrown, so don’t bother. Fine by me.

I’m pretty bloody hot by now and am very relieved when I get back to the car. And my water (I know, I know). I crank down the windows and air dry on my way to Bisbee.

I’ve never been to Bisbee but it looked good when I passed it so I’m looking forward. I am not disappointed. The town sprung up because of – you’ve guessed it – copper mines. All the houses and stores are perched on the side of the mountains and it looks like a cross between an English and Austrian town. Very cute. There still is a massive mine around the corner, but Bisbee is very much a tourist town, less so than Tombstone mind you, there is a thriving community here, and it shows. First off, I hit the excellent mining museum, which is affliated with the Smithsonian Institution. It’s really, really good. Lots of information about Bisbee and mining, as well as a beautiful collection of minerals and rocks. I’m very pleased. I head out for a walk about.

I see a woman heading up the biggest flight of stairs I’ve ever seen and decide to follow her. There are an awful lot of stairs. At some point we acknowledge each other, but she keeps the lead as I keep stopping to look around. When we get to the top she heads left and I head right. Good view. I see her climbing some rocks so decide to see where she was going and as I clamber over the rock and round the corner I almost bump into her. She’s just chilling on a fantastic boulder that is perched over the town. She’s a local so we talk about the town and Tombstone. I tell her how it looks as if things aren’t great what with all the for rent and for sale signs in Tombstone and she tells me a couple of sad stories about recently opened – and closed – businesses in Bisbee. But she loves it here, and I tell her I’m not surprised. It’s lovely. I hope it survives.

I walk past an antique shop and can’t help but pop in – there are war things and comics in the window. I make my way to the end and see an original At-At Walker. I had one when I was young and tell the owner. He seems pretty happy about this and we talk about how badly we treated our Star Wars stuff when we were young. I used to line up my figures and shoot them with an air rifle. I think they’re mostly buried in the pond now.

I make my way down and head to the Mile High Desert Market and Café (Bisbee is a mile up from sea-level). I buy a Mexican Pepsi although I have no idea what I’m really buying. I have a salad and copious amounts of fluid and realise I have no idea what the time is. It’s just over 3. Blimey.

I head back to the car feeling very pleased. On the way back, the sun is shining, there’s good music on the radio and I feel very happy. I crank up the volume and sign loudly along to Fleetwood Mac. You can go your own waaaaaaay. I’m a little sad I won’t be driving across Arizona anymore, so want to make the most of it.

Almost back in Tombstone, I see a sign for Gleeson out of the corner of my eye. I recall there being talk of a ghost town in Gleeson so turn around and head down the road, not really sure of where I’m going. I’m surprised to find the road is paved. It doesn’t look like it should be, going from the map.

Oh, there it is.

I pass some cows and not much else. I twist and turn and keep a good look out for any ruins. The only ruins I find after around an hour aren’t much, but what the heck – I’m just enjoying the drive.

I decide not to push on so head back the way I came. I pass the cows and give baby cow a good scare. Poor cow. Perhaps it knows that there’s a likely chance it’ll end up on my plate one day. Mama cow seems to have accepted her fate and just gives me that look that only cows can give, and just carries on chewing her grass, which itself has accepted its fate. Circle of life.

Further on the road, a Roadrunner runs across the road. It is, just as the cartoon says, very fast. I curse myself for not having my camera right at hand, but just as I’m over cursing myself, another one runs across, and pauses for a second. It’s not the best shot.

I get back my room at 5, and crack open a cider I bought. I sit outside for a little bit and enjoy the evening then head down to eat. I have fried chicken. My internal organs can’t wait to get back to Denmark.

I take some photos and head back to my room.

Early night tonight. Got to get up early tomorrow. I’m pretty excited about the morning. I’m going to visit Pima Air and Space Museum, which is also home to the Boneyard, where aeroplanes go to die. It’s only open Monday to Friday, and if I hadn’t extended my stay, I wouldn’t have been able to visit, so it all works out well. Expect a lot of photos. Well, more than the usual. 

Lordsburg to Tombstone

Today was a mixed bag.

Woke up after falling asleep in front of the TV. Slept around 9 hours. Had no idea I was so tired. It was a good rest.

Quick shower and I’m off to breakfast only to find it’s grey and rainy. Oh well. There go my plans of lounging by the pool for a couple of hours. I have a small breakfast (small bowl of cereal) as I’ll be off to Portal Café later and can fill up with some good grub them. After my incredibly restrained breakfast I have a Skype then hit the road.

I’m a bit down. I’m sad the trip is coming to an end, and somehow the weather just makes it worse. I don’t even mind the rain so much, it’s just so grey. Never mind. I’ll visit two ghost towns, then the café, and then head on to Tombstone – it’s all good.

I’m not sure how to get to the first ghost town, but I suddenly come across signs and soon I’m on dirt roads and on track. I pull up in a deserted parking lot only to find a sign on the gates telling me it’s closed. Huh.

That’s a shame. I’m looking forward to seeing Steins even more though as it’s one I had already visited back in 1999, when we came across it by pure chance. It’ll be fun to see it again. So back on the road for a 15 minute drive. I turn off and see a sign. I round the corner and boom – it’s closed. Big locks on the gates (weren't any gates last time) and a ‘beware of the dog’ sign. That’s a bit of a kick in the face. I drive around a bit and then head off. Not much else to do. This means I’m hours ahead of my schedule. Oh well.

As I head towards Portal the rain clears up and there’s blue sky in the distance, but it doesn’t lift my mood much.

Once again there are grasshoppers all over the road. Hundreds of them.  Different ones this time, but just as - if not more - messy. 

I’m literally just thinking about the tarantula I saw and wondering if I just made it up when I spot another one! I slow down as again, it’s just me in America, and pull over. I take a photo but quickly as (of course) there’s a truck coming. I get out of the middle of the road and see him fly over it. I walk back to find it all curled up and very much dead. Well, still twitching. Poor thing. Still, I got my photo. I’m pretty pleased. I see a few more softly walking across the road and do my best to avoid them.

Minutes later, I see a rock in the road. But it’s moving. It’s a turtle! My God! The wildlife adventures I’m having. Again, I pull over, and rescue it like I should have done the tarantula. It hides in its shell and I look at the little face, legs and tail all curled up. It’s cute (seeing the photo now I realise I have my hand in focus and not him. Sorry). I plonk it down on the side of the road it was facing and hope it just wasn’t turning around to wave goodbye.

Hello

I feel that my ghost town failures have been replaced by nature adventures. I am pleased. On to Portal.

A little while later I see a woman rescuing another turtle from the road. I want to stop and tell her about my turtle but I don’t.

After a short drive towards the mountains, I see signs for Portal. I pull over and look forward to a good second breakfast. The first thing I see as I walk in the door is a sign hanging from a chair in the doorway of the café saying ‘closed’. What the… The woman lets me use the toilet and I buy a Pay Day (Snickers without chocolate, as far as I can tell). I’m back to being a little grumpy.

I’ll be very early in to Tombstone. It’s OK, but there’s not that much to do in the town and I have two nights planned. I thought I’d only really have tomorrow.

I get back in the car and head back on the road.

An hour and a bit later I pass through Bisbee and wind up in Tombstone. I check in –my room is ready early – and the extremely friendly owner and I talk about the grasshoppers. Apparently they’re not that normal. They’ve only had them this year and last. Odd. They’re a monsoon thing. She gives me a map of the town and says I’ll have to let her know how much its changed since ’99.

I walk around. It’s horrifically naff but also very cool. Take away the tourists, the plastic, the kitsch, and the neon; you’d be in Tombstone of 1877. It was a silver mining town, and is of course famous for the gunfight at the OK Corral. By the 1950s, Tombstone was a ghost town until the decision was taken to restore it. I’m sure Hollywood helped.

There are a lot of people walking around in cowboy costumes, who have random shootouts on the streets, and the gunfight is re-enacted every day at the OK Corral. As I said, it’s naff, but good fun.

I go to the Birdcage Theatre, where ‘soiled doves’ (ladies of the night – you know) would entertain men, and performances were held. There are bullet holes all over from drunken cowboys and fights and many of the items are in their original places. It’s pretty damn cool.

Those pesky kids

Last time I was in Tombstone, we drank a lot and hung out with the locals. I’ve no idea how long we spent here. One night, after copious amounts of beer and Wild Turkey at Big Nose Kate’s Saloon, I had to go home early due to intoxication. I was dropped off and fell off the back of the truck (literally). The next thing I know, it’s morning and Annabel tells me how she and our new friends went out of town and shot Magnums. I was very, very jealous. Bloody alcohol.

I head to Big Nose Kate’s, which looks very different from last time, and I walk up and down the streets. I take a little tour around during which we’re told about where people like Doc Holliday and the Earp brothers lived and drank. I visit the courthouse and the gallows, and head to the museum only to find it’s closed due to ‘slow times’. I realise that half the properties are either for sale or for rent. There are hardly any people here. I hope it’s because it’s a Tuesday and school has started again.

She loves her catWant

I buy a Sarsaparilla and sit under a tree in the park. The sun has come out and it’s really quite cosy. I head back to the motel and can’t help but notice a bazooka in the window of a shop. I stop and look. Apparently you can rent guns and go shoot stuff. I go in.

Two big guys in there chat to me about England and Scotland while I look at grenade launchers, Tommy guns, automatics, semi-automatics and all kinds of very real guns. It’s weird to see them just sitting there. The guys are nice but I can’t help but think how odd it all is. I’ve passed a lot of guns and ammo shops, and seen a good number of cars with pro-guns slogans pasted on them. It’s just a bit strange for a Brit to see.

I make my excuses and head back to the motel to get some washing sorted, then realise it’s actually only 4 and not 5. Damn time zones. I’ve no idea.

I go for another wander then end up back in Big Nose Kate’s for a pint. For dinner at the Crystal Palace I have ribs. Outside there is a great sunset but I didn’t bring my camera and my phone camera is wonky.

After I’ve eaten half a cow I sit outside for a bit. It’s very, very quiet.

I go back to my room and put on a shirt – no shirt, no service (actually it’s just chilly) – and go back to Big Nose Kate’s. The place is all but deserted. There are 6 OAPs sitting around a table and a couple of guys at the bar, separate. I join them. There is a band. An absolutely awesome band. The youngest member must be pushing 65. Sax, piano, slide guitar, guitar, electric organ thing, and a couple of others. I order a big Grand Canyon IPA and regret it because it’s huge. It’s not a pint, that’s for sure. But I accept the challenge and sip it slowly while the band plays covers of Johnny Cash, Elvis, Carl Perkins and others. It’s wonderfully lazy and slow. I head out side and look up at the clear sky. There are stars everywhere. I didn’t bring my camera and knew I’d regret it, but I’m here tomorrow too. I’m the only person on the street and as I look down, it’s not so hard to think of the old days. The electric lights are gone, the people gone and the noise gone – bar the old time country coming from Kate’s. I lean on the horse-tying-up-bar (I’m pretty sure there’s a more accurate term) and imagine the Wild West. I hear footsteps coming from further down, and a lone woman dressed in denim, boots, and a cowboy hat passes me with a little ‘howdy’ as she heads out into the dark. I’m happy. I head back in to finish my gigantic beer and look around at the rather loud but well meaning paraphernalia from the good old days. It’s a good place.

I leave, but wish I could have stayed with a friend or two.

I’ve always wished I could do this trip with Annabel again, and I’m confident we will. I always wanted to do this trip, but honestly never thought I would, and yet, here I am. I’m so, so, so happy to have done it and to be here. And I’ve still got a couple of days. Annabel tells me via Facebook that she’s jealous, and I can imagine how she feels – I’d be sick to the stomach if she were here and I was home – but I tell her we’ll do it together again, and I mean it.

I’m looking forward to the next couple of days, but I’m also looking forward to getting home and finding out what I’m going to do for work. I’ve thought about it quite a lot over the past few days and an idea is brewing, an idea I’ve had for a couple of years. We’ll see how it pans out.

Until then, I’ll enjoy the west. Tomorrow I will head to Bisbee and then Boothill Cemetery to look at graves and stuff.