We thought that time would start to creep along ever so slowly once we retired. While “moments”, those immeasurable periods of enlightenment or reflection and inspiration, have certainly increased for us, seemingly every day, time, in and of itself, has not slowed. It’s still on cruise control set at 70 MPH. Days pass like a gust of wind sometimes. So, we find ourselves ready to leave Tonto and our friends, Cindy and Dusty yet again. It’s time to head on down the road. New adventures await, the current and near-present memories, discoveries, and emotions fill our hearts. How blessed we are to live this life...to be able to fill ourselves with the panorama of discovery of new places, new friends, and new history.
Our plans with Dusty and Cindy were to head up into the White Mountains together where they are going to spend the summer in cooler climes. We have not been there before and after hearing our friends talk so fondly of the area so often we are really in high anticipation of seeing it for ourselves. The unfortunate issue at hand is that Dusty is having some serious eye trouble and cannot leave Tonto yet because he has surgery now planned with recovery period a question mark. Bummer...Big Fat Bummer. We feel so badly for Dusty. As for ourselves, we are committed to a timetable in Colorado at Steamboat Lake and we have to move on. After a wonderful evening of most excellent food and warm laughter Diane and I shove off in Nell, our Conestoga Motor Home for the White Mountains. “On the Road Again, I just can’t wait to get on the road again...”. The Willie Nelson anthem of the road warrior fills our minds and Diane and I fist pump as we drink in the now familiar elixir of life on the road.
Climbing up the roads that lead to the White Mountains we pass through the mountain towns, once forlorn and forgotten but now teaming with summer escapees from the desert below. Payson, Show Low, Snowflake, Springerville, and finally the village of Alpine. Outside of Show Low, the town named after a poker hand, there lies a little gem of a state park called, Fools Hollow. There is a lovely lake there and some rugged small bluffs along the walls of the water. The campground is immaculately maintained and each camp site has privacy built in with cedars and pines sheltering little mini coves where you set up camp. We stayed there one night to give ourselves a break on the way to Alpine, our destination.
Alpine, reached the next day, is nestled in a little valley amidst the White Mountains in Arizona. This area resembles Colorado’s finest in so many ways. The altitude itself is pretty impressive at 8000’ or so. Bears and wolves, yes, Mexican Gray Wolves, inhabit the craggy slopes and meadows up here. Elk are seemingly everywhere. Both White Tail as well as Mule Deer run through the forest as if on holiday. Ponderosa Pines stretch to the heavens scraping the ultra-blue sky and the afternoon cumulus clouds as they lazily drift over the mountains. This...is a great place to spend the summer months while the desert broils in the summer sun. Dusty and Cindy were not exaggerating when they described this area to us. We are staying in the same RV Park that they will be staying in later when they arrive. It’s ideal as far as RV Parks go, small, clean, and well maintained. Homer is the day time manager here and I believe he is the oldest living human being. At least he looks it. Quite the character, I enjoyed hanging around with him and chewing the fat. I think if he had a few shots under his belt quite a few choice stories would unfold.
The folk of Alpine are a different breed of cat. The local horse boarding guy who also features trail rides proudly flies a Confederate flag at the entrance to his establishment. No American flag mind you, just the flag of slavery. I’m told he is the local militia leader and that the militia meets often. Down the street and up the next and only avenue of Alpine sits three very nice restaurants. We ventured into one for breakfast one day. It’s great to occasionally have a sit down breakfast at a local diner and take in the local color and cuisine. “Why not?” we say to each other. We trundle into the establishment which has just opened the week before after being closed for the winter. The fist thing we notice is the clearly written sign on the front door...”No cell phones allowed...We’re serious”. In fact, there are two signs with that commandment, one on the front door and one standing by itself near the cash register as you enter. The next sign we notice states, “Fire arms allowed, please aim carefully if the need arises”. Yet another sign warns, “ Due to the shortage of ammunition these days no warning shots will be fired.” Indeed, most of the locals are wearing side arms. I look around searching for Doc Holliday or Wyatt Earp. We are more than a little amazed that in a town of maybe 200 the folks, hidden in the mountains, are nervous about being accosted while eating breakfast. So much so that they need to carry and display their latest gun purchase. Maybe they think the nearby White Mountain Apaches are gearing up for a raid on the café and are going to make off with their womenfolk. I will say this..the food was ample and it was good, expensive, but good. A side of bacon was $5.99 (three pieces). The menfolk in the eatery were all friendly. No problems, no need to draw and fire weapons. But, one meal in that fine establishment was enough for us.
We spent four very glorious days in the White Mountains and we could have stayed the summer...it’s that awesome. We spent our time driving down dirt roads through the mountains taking in the rarefied cool air and sunshine. We hiked where we couldn’t drive. We cooked outside and ate well. Reservation Lake at 9000 ‘ was a treat for us. It takes some driving down washboard dirt roads to get there, but the ride and the destination are so worth it. We stopped to watch an elk herd moving through the forest. We caught a large group of white tails running through a meadow by a meandering creek. It seemed every creek had a beaver lodge and dam on it. Wild horses were out and abundant as well. Beautiful specimens, still sporting their winter coats sacheting easily in small open meadows, green with new grass growth.
One afternoon we decided to go exploring with no destination in mind. That’s a common practice for us. We saw a sign for the East Fork of the Black River and chose to follow it. After about 10 miles of severely washed out and wash-boarded dirt road we dropped down into a steep valley. The river, more a mountain creek with a purposeful current, ran unbridled through the valley. The far side of the river bank had been burnt down by a wild fire some years ago, 2011 I believe. Still, the languid lure of the place was overwhelming. We parked the Jeep on the side of the road and got out to enjoy the serenity. I played my guitar while Diane worked on her pottery...just we two with the entire little valley to ourselves. THIS, is what our 50 Amp Vision Quest is all about. My guitar chords and notes drifted up into the sky as pine campfire smoke would. Diane’s creativity with the earthen clay became enlightened. Near nightfall, around 7:00 PM, we packed up and headed back to the motor home satisfied with the day’s passing, yet craving more. We know to hold these days close to our soul. So few get to experience them. We know not if one day we will run out of money and gas and food and lodging...and time. Despite all the budgeting that I do and our efforts at money management we understand that one day we will be forced to settle down...somewhere. But, for now, that day is not on the horizon. We are trying with all our might to live in the moment. Ironically, I've learned that in order to accomplish being in the moment you don't try, mightily or otherwise. On this day, that was accomplished.
Our time was more or less up in the White Mountains. We could elect to stay a bit longer, but we decided to head out to Cortez, CO for a couple of days. The drive takes us through the Navajo lands. We’ve taken this route before. It’s relatively easy, thought the highway is pretty rough in spots with lots of heaving of the asphalt. We listened to Navajo radio and that is pretty interesting. They broadcast first in Navajo and then repeat it but in English. The music is very eclectic varying from 50 years ago to tunes of today, mostly country and western. Now and then they will play a Navajo chant song and that is really interesting. Of course, we have no clue what they are singing about, but the heavy drone of the drum coupled with the singing is very hypnotic, especially as you cruise over the open land of Northern Arizona drifting as it were among the buttes.
Once in Cortez we stayed at an RV park right in town. This made it very convenient for us to get around to what we wanted to see. One day we drove up to Canyon of the Ancients, a vast desert landscape very similar to Mesa Verde. Indeed, as the crow flies it can’t be more than 15-20 miles that separate the two sites. We hiked around a bit and viewed some of the ruins up close. Most of them were double-walled made of fitted stones. Considering that these buildings were constructed nearly 1000 years ago it is a wonder that anything remains. Check dams, installed to hold the water that ran down the arroyos from the scant rainfall, remain in place. I am so amazed when I contemplate these ruins as I am when I see similar ones all over the southwest. I’m told by the local rangers, whom I love to strike up conversations with, that there are ruins scattered all over the place out here around Cortez. Of course, ranchers and others have made off with a lot of historical artifacts that they’ve found on the land. However, I’m certain a lot of history remains of these peoples. I’ve been to Cortez three separate times and each time I notice growth and expansion. It’s no wonder, the area is beautiful and can serve as a jumping off point for so many other really scenic areas, like Telluride or Durango to name just two.
After a day’s rest we continued on to Grand Junction, Colorado. I made plans for us to stay at a Colorado state park near there called James M Cobb/ Island Acres State Park. There are 3 sections of this state park, all located along the Colorado or Gunnison Rivers which meet in Grand Junction. Island Acres was great for us. We camped right on the Colorado River as it abuts a monster bluff raising perhaps 5-600’ into the sky. All around are dry mountain landscapes, escarpments, really. I imagine that the rivers and erosion have carved these marvels over millions of years. Short hikes are abundant along the river as are longer, more arduous ones up in the mountains. We’d see eagles and hawks and the occasional osprey hunting for fish. Coyotes stir the night air with howls of lonely isolation.
I tried fishing the river but only caught one small Channel Catfish. The rangers told me that the river in this section is inhabited by mostly bull head catfish and a few Channel cats. The river being pretty low, I elected to fish the several lakes or ponds on the property of the State Park. They had been stocked with trout, Rainbows. Sure enough, I caught enough for a couple of dinners. We used the State Park as a base of operations as we explored the region over several days...nearly a week. Our intention was to stay 3-4 days and then head on the final leg to Steamboat Lake State Park, our summer destination. However, When I called the supervisor there she told me there was still snow on our site and we should hold off for a few days. She would call when it was good to come up there. No sense in pushing things we figured. It worked out great as we had more time to check out the area. Even though we’ve been through here 3 times before, there is so much to see and do here we had no problem filling our days with adventures of one sort or another.