Parks And Rec

If you enjoy the outdoors the fearsomely named Dead Horse Ranch State Park can accommodate you.  I spent a morning there by myself as Layne was suffering a fever attack after her Covid booster shot (most unfairly I was fine) and Rusty was pleased to take advantage of expansive air conditioning instead of joining me on a photographic outing on a hot summer’s day. Smart dog. The park is on the Green River, and every outdoor thing around here has “Verde” in its name.

The state is connecting the parks and open spaces with a cross state trail through the Verde Valley which I first saw north of Benson as we took off to Cascabel. Here in Clarkdale the river is the source of outdoor recreation and trees and in Dead Horse State Park there are some big cottonwoods. 

Apparently a Minnesota family came to the area and wanted to buy a ranch. After they checked out a few they settled on the one with “the dead horse” on it. When they gave the ranch to the state the Ireys family insisted the state stick with the name they gave their gift. Don’t be fooled, it’s a great park. You ride a bicycle, take your dog on the trails with you, ride horses…

…or mountain bikes on the trails. There’s fishing in the pond and a kids playground and RV and tent campsites as well as day use areas and a free RV dump station at the entrance, on your way out. I walked the river a little to check out the cottonwoods and the water which looked abundant in this desert.

Then I looked for the Lime Kiln Trail, which did not make itself immediately apparent. Shades of Mexico I thought to myself remembering the totally lack of signage which is the preferred style of Mexican enterprise.  I located a sign “to” the trail and blundered through the creosote and sage bushes on a subsidiary trail. Finally I found the correct intersection.

I stayed home with Layne until she was settled and able to ride out the side effects of the booster so by the time I was on this trail it was about 10:30 and the morning was heating up.

It’s started raining around here these past couple of days, an annual event over dramatized by Arizonans as “monsoon season.” I’ve seen monsoon rains in India where the term originated and I’m sure it will rain jus5 as hard here. Much like it has recently in the Keys. But it’s not rainy season - it’s (drum roll) monsoon season. The real monsoon comes on a wind from the Indian Ocean but around here the rain comes over the mountains with much clatter, dumps and disappears. 

The net result of all this meteorological drama is much cooler temperatures and Gannet2 was showing 81 degrees on arrival at the park. It got hotter and I was sweating as I climbed the switchback trails. 

Layne has found a new water bottle in her Amazon travels which keeps water cold for a long time but which, rather brilliantly you can drink from without upending the bottle. I get nagged about drinking more water so she got an iron flask for me and I am going to be good about drinking more water even when I’m not baking on a shade-free Arizona trail. Apparently thirst isn’t as apparent as you get older so you are supposed to drink more even if you don’t feel like it.  This getting old thing is getting to be a real bore.

I met the creator of the bicycle track when I heard a clanking noise coming down the trail.  He reminded me of me thirty years ago all bearded and standing on the pedals of his very modern bike. We exchanged greetings and he was gone.  I almost had time to catch a blurry picture of his front wheel. Other than that cheery meet and greet I was alone. I hope Rusty missed me as much as I did him.

At some point about an hour in it became apparent the scenery wasn’t going to change, the lime kilns were not making themselves known to come and there wasn’t going to be any shade. Later I figured out I turned around just before the Jumper Trail, an odd name for a path skirting many canyons and their abysses, but I was ready for lunch back at Gannet2.

I came back to the correct trail head in a parking lot around the corner from where I’d left my life support system and I got to study the trail map a bit. The entrance to Lime Kiln Trail is at the fishing pond at the head of the park in case you ever find yourself here, and you really should because it’s lovely. 

I had oatmeal (cooked) and forgot the life giving chia seeds so I’m glad Layne wasn’t there to witness my failure.  Part B of the day involved a visit to some ruins just around the corner and through the town of Cottonwood.

Tuzigoot National Monument reminded me a bit of the pyramid at Tzin Tzun Tzan at Lake Pátzcuaro in Mexico even though this Pueblo is much smaller, apparently accommodating about 225 people at its height in the 12th century.

For ten dollars you get to walk the ruins at your leisure after you check out the pottery and the historic photos of the original dig in the 1930s.  

The park people use current Hopi thinking here to try to unravel the past, identifying art and customs possibly through Hopi eyes in this place.  The Texas state parks did the same at their Pueblo ruins we visited last year. 

Apparently the residents of this place traded along the Verde Valley and used rocks for coins. Oddly enough they mined different colored stones here and traded them.  Of course when the United States showed up mining was on everyone’s mind.  So being a miner has been the way of life here for a very long time.

You are allowed to climb the tower and walk the roof even though it’s important not to touch the walls as they are delicate. Early archeologists used cement to build the ruins back but modern thought is to use the same materials as the original builders so mud mortar takes maintenance and is much more delicate than might appear.

I enjoyed my time here.

I got home and Layne was still feeling like crap.

Rusty was glad to see me then curled up in the cold.

I quite like central Arizona.

Getting Lost

“Now we follow US Highway 89,” my intrepid navigator announced, full of confidence.  We droned out of Prescott on a course of steady due north, as the crow flies and whatever other cliché you care to name. The road looked interminable.

My intrepid navigator announced she felt sleepy and took her self off to bed leaving me alone with Rusty who, at our lunch stop in Prescott had also announced the day was wearing him out.

We had spent the morning driving from Roosevelt Lake, Arizonans largest body of water, and we had left early in the morning after our usual burst of video exercise. We drove alongside the lake admiring the views.  It’s not the ocean but the water does provide a nice contrast.

We even saw a number of sailboats in mothballs in the hard for the summer months. None on the water actually sailing.

The drive through the mountains had its own fascination, the pine forests for which this countryside is famous, with trees growing at high altitude. We stopped for some refreshing tea for the driver and a walk for the chief security officer and it was 73 degrees. When I had told Bruce of our plans to drive north he had shaken his head at my temerity planning to enjoy driving Arizona in summer and warned somberly of the dangers of heat. He has a point, but have all we need aboard Gannet2 to live comfortably hot or cold, as we have already survived temperatures from below freezing up to 112.  This kind of mountain heat we enjoyed, the lower altitude heat we suffered with no apparent peril, just discomfort.Van Life isn’t always just right, some days it’s tougher than others but we aren’t easy to be dissuaded.  

The pleasure of living on wheels allows us to move at will and. If we d9nt like where we are, we have no mortgage.  Prescott offered some shopping ,6 wide wanted to follow up on as we made our way north to Clarkdale so we stopped. Lunch was Thai food which we ate aboard Gannet2 at a wooded trail head behind Costco. 

Then we drove round the corner into the busyness of the parking lot and left Layne to wander her favorite warehouse. Rusty and I found a stretch of open woodland above the Costco parking lot which we wandered until he got bored. I was not bored playing around with my new camera.

Most of m6 photographs from the Keys were made with two self contained bridge cameras by Panasonic, a large FZ1000 with a massive telephoto lens and a smaller LX100 with its own built in lens. The self contained cameras are convenient and versatile even if they do lack some of the versatility in photo making that interchangeable lens cameras allow. I am lazy and I hoped the cameras could survive the rigors of life on the road however both were showing signs of wear, moisture on the sensor and failing electronic buttons such that I  gave them to Bruce the engineer to play with and ordered myself the equivalent cameras by Panasonic with a few lenses which I now have to change to a comodate different views.  Sigh. It sucks to be lazy. I took these with my GX85 rangefinder style camera with a fixed 25mm lens. Now you know. Who cares? Right?

Back on the road we drove north pit of Prescott until Layne told me to take Highway 89 to Clarkdale while she refreshed herself with a nap. I was enjoying the drive across the plains and yes I know it’s flat desert type stiff but I like looking out the window as we ambled north at an economical 55mph. Thee were tons of passing spaces for those needing to burn gas. 

These photos I took with the larger G95 by Panasonic with the 12-60 mm lens that comes wit( t(e camera.  Panasonic makes a line of Professional lenses that cost the earth but I doubt I shall buy those as no one pays me (nor should they) for my hobby. These seem to do fine for my van life online life. I’m not making huge prints to hang in my mansion.  

We drove up Highway 89 for a while and I wondered where Clarkdale was. Finally I woke from my stupor and activated my Google map which showed some weird route I could decipher.  That was odd as there was, as you can see, but one road.  Huh? About the time I was thinking about waking Layne 8 saw a sign pointing to Interstate 40, Los Angeles to the left and Flagstaff to the right. This can’t be right.”Layne…Layne…LAYNE?” I pulled over and together we studied what was going on.

The short version was we overshot the train off for Clarkdale/Cottonwood and trundled north of miles out of our way. So we turned around and trundled back south. Luckily, we kept telling each other, we are retired and have no appointments or anybody to yell at us. 

I missed Mexico on this stretch of the drive, the magic third lane especially.  Cars were driven by people unable to pass. The speed limit is a gas guzzling 65 mph and around here it seems like a suggested limit with no cops to enforce it.  The road is flat and straight and properly marked but these intrepid Arizonans could not bring themselves to cross the dotted line.  I got tired of pulling over to let them by so they could burn five dollar gas much faster but I wished we were in the land of the magic third lane where I pulled onto the shoulder and the capable Mexicans passed freely down the middle. No drama, no road rage, no tailgating, no impatience. And you will be surprised to learn no crashing.

Eventually we got back to the missed turn and we went east on 89A up the Prescott Valley toward Mingus Mountain which separates Jerome,Clarkdale, Cottonwood and Sedona from Prescott. Apparently in the 1880s Joseph and Jacob Mingus ran a sawmill around there…OR William Mingus was prospecting around the mountain a decade earlier. Or something like that, so I guess no one is really sure.  I think I can say with certainty jazz is not involved. Probably.

Naturally it started to rain as we climbed the beautiful pine forested mountain.  The specks on the windshield annoyed me especially as we haven’t seen rain in quantity in months.  This gentle sprinkle wasn’t going to solve and drought issues but it tested our new Michelin Agilis three season tires from Hermosillo and we failed to slide anywhere.  My rather slow speeds may have helped us stay on the road as well.

We are planning a return trip to Jerome while we stay with Kathy so I am looking forward to a walk around the former ghost town resurrected as a tourist destination.

That rain! Obscuring the famous fire station on the hairpin bend…



The red rocks of Sedona on the horizon.

Rusty taking a break. He’s coming /ask too of course.

Our mooching dock base for the next few days. Rain is cooling temperatures and bringing fresh air to the town set at 3700 feet. After Clarkdale we are planning a tour of the Navajo Nation which will be even higher elevation and probably require blankets!  For now Rusty gets to enjoy a proper home.