Tucson to Phoenix

So here I am. Phoenix Airport. I’ve just this second noticed that I can see the runway from where I am sitting, which is pretty cool. It’s dark outside so can only just make out wing tips and tail tips, but it’s still fun to watch.

My flight doesn’t leave for another 3 hours, and I got here 3 hours ago, but amazingly I’ve not been bored yet. I’m not sure what I’ve done as all I can remember doing is eating dinner, but there you go. It’s a great airport. Really friendly staff, fountains for filling up your water bottles once through security, free wifi, plugs everywhere for charging your various bits – it’s great.

Anyway, enough airport stuff. I woke up early, despite having nothing to wake up for, and after a bit of tossing and turning made my way to breakfast. Toast, bacon and a pot of yoghurt later, I was back in my room and packing my bags for the final time. I had a late check out so I was going to hit the pool for a couple of hours before heading on. It was a bit strange to pack away things I knew I wouldn’t use until back on Danish soil, but it also made me excited about sleeping in my own bed.

I lounged by the pool, swam and sweat the 2 hours away, then showered and hit the road. I’m pretty pleased to see that it’s a good hour and a bit until Florence, my first stop. It gives me time to relish the driving, the landscape and the air. I pass some beautiful scenery.

Florence will give me lunch, as well as something to look at. Lonely Planet tells me it’s really quite charming, and it is. It’s full of buildings like this.

But it’s deserted. It is pushing 40 degrees outside, so I’m not that surprised. I head back to the car and try to find somewhere to eat. I checked out a place online, River Bottom Grill, that looked good enough, and am convinced I’ve passed it when I suddenly see it. It looks like a bit of a dive from the outside, but is cool, friendly and has a great BLT and garlic fries. My body craves salt and homemade ice-teas washes it all down nicely. A big mug of coffee finishes it all off. I’m in no rush. I could easily sit here and drink beer, but alas, no can do. I bum about online (free wifi!) and then decide I should head on. Back into the furnace.

My next stop is Casa Grande. I’m not really expecting much but, once again, I am very pleasantly surprised. Again again, I’m almost the only person there (2 others). I chat to the park guide about my trip and the weather and she tells me how all the parks are full to the brim in the winter. You can manage with flip-flops and a t-shirt in the winter, so many OAPs – snowbirds – flock here for the colder winter months elsewhere. The summer is just too hot. This explains my constant solitude at almost every park. No complaining from here.

The Casa Grande ruins are made up of four compounds, each of which contained numerous buildings. Now, of course, there are only worn down walls, expect for one building - Casa Grande. It stands in the only compound you can visit, and is a true oddity. No one really knows what it was used for, although guesses abound. The first European to set eyes on it was Padre Eusebio Francisco Kino, a Spanish missionary, in 1694. Hundreds of years of looting, vandalism and graffiti later, it was finally made a national park in 1918. In 1932, the current protective roof was put over it, and not much has changed since. It, and the compounds, were built around 1350 by the ancient people of the Hohokam period. The area was abandoned about a thousand years later for reasons unknown. It’s suspected that over-population combined with water problems forced the people to move on. All that is left are the worn down walls of all the buildings and compounds except for Casa Grande, the only large construction, and completely unlike any other from that period. It’s a very, very important place for Navajo people and is oddly powerful. I love it.

Casa Grande

I walk around for some time, despite the baking heat, and am watched closely by the pigeons who now call Casa Grande home. I wonder what it was like all those years ago.

Pointy pointy

You can see the outer walls of a second compound and a ball court (an oval ring of dirt that looked very different back then and was used for games) from a viewing point in the parking lot, but my attention is elsewhere. I’m sure I can see a sand storm brewing in the distance. I go to the bathroom and refill my bottle from the water fountain in anticipation of getting stuck in a storm, but alas, no such luck. It does get murky as I leave, but that’s it.

My next stop, after another hour and a bit, is the David and Gladys Wright house. Frank Lloyd Wright designed and built this house for his son, David and his missus, Gladys. Gladys left the house to her granddaughters, who sold it (!). It was then sold on to a developer and was threatened with being demolished. Great efforts went in to saving it, and after a lot of online campaigning, fund raising and signature getting, an anonymous benefactor bought it, saving it from demolition. The benefactor turned out to be a Las Vegas attorney, Zach Rawling, who has established a new Arizona non-profit to care for the house. Huzzah!

I have to drive through Phoenix to find the house and I’m terrified. I’ve not been around so many cars in a long time, I’m driving a big car, it’s in a city I don’t know and busy American roads freak me out. It’s really hot and I’m sweating a lot. Suddenly, I make a turn that is clearly where the rich people live. It’s quiet, the houses are big and beautiful, and there is grass! What luxury. I arrive at my destination, but have to go around the corner to get a view. It’s all fenced off with threatening signs all over the place, but you can get a decent enough glimpse.

Slightly different angle

It’s beautiful. To think it was going to be demolished! What I’d give to live in it. You can see a video of the outside and inside here.  

Next stop is the airport. More mad city driving, but not much, thankfully. Unfortunately it’s rush hour traffic on a Friday, and the highway is jammed. Luckily, I’m in not busy. I see something in the road but can tell it’s nothing dangerous so just keep driving. I hear a weird popping noise and then smell something that could be paint. I keep driving.

Back at Budget, I get out of the car to see black paint sprayed up the side of the car. A spray paint can. That’s what it was. I tell the man and we fill out an incident form. He’s confident it’ll be able to be taken off without too much worry. I hope so. I’m bummed out enough about the journey ending, the last thing I need is the cost of a paint job.

I pack up all my bits and bobs, and clear out my rubbish. It’s actually a bit sad to leave the car. We’ve had some good times. I head towards the airport the same way I came two weeks ago. I can’t help but think back to then. I was so tired and nervous. I was already wondering if I had made the right choice – not about staying another week, but about coming in the first place.

What a holiday it’s been. What an adventure. I've covered 2360 miles, or 3798 km. I’m going to miss Arizona very much. I’ll miss the kind, warm and friendly people who are all too happy to chat away, but never intrude. I’ll miss the wonderful weather – whether it’s baking desert or rainy mountains. I’ll miss the landscapes, the deserts, the forests, the canyons, and the hills. I’ll miss the road, dirt or tarmac. I’ll miss driving to new places, discovering spots as I go. I’ll miss stopping at breathtaking views and just sucking it all in.

I’m so, so pleased I’ve been able to do this trip. As I said yesterday, it’s just made me want more, but for now, I’ve had my fix. Now it’s time to go and stay in one place for a while. It’s time to go home. 

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.