Arizona, Day Two

Today we visited Tortilla Flats.  Tucked between towering outcroppings of rocks, old buildings lined one side of the road, blending new, touristy attractions with weathered buildings, supposedly dating back to the late 1800s.  A man dangled from his neck by a rope, moving gently above the doorway of the souvenir/ ice-cream shop.  Closer inspection showed it was most likely a dummy.  An ancient bathtub outside the front door made claims to having Wyatt Earp bathe therein.  Since there is no way to prove or disprove this we decided to believe it since that seemed the fun thing to do.

Strolling down the rickety boardwalk we ate lunch at a quaint little restaurant, lined from ceiling to floor and wall to wall with one-dollar bills, each bearing the name of the person who put it up for display.  The rafters, the ceiling, every available surface was covered.  Lunch was delicious and the atmosphere was all we could have hoped for.

Back out in the sun, I saw my first Saguaro (pronounced swhor-oh) spine.  My niece and her husband had been telling us about them, but I was amazed when I actually saw one.  Looking like a large, hollow driftwood log, riddled with holes and fissures, it gave the impression of having washed up on a beach somewhere.  Except the color was a reddish brown, whereas most driftwood is greyish white.  Since Saguaro are native only to Arizona, they are strictly protected so the spines can only be procured from cacti that are already dead.  This makes them rare and valuable finds.

Inside we enjoyed a break from the already stifling heat, sheltered as we were from any breeze chancing to find its way down the canyon.  Prickly pear ice-cream, made from cactus by the same name, reminded me of strawberries.

Back on the road we wound our way to a small mining town from back in the day.  Just a short distance from Phoenix, it looked like it was miles from anywhere.  Surrounded by stark wilderness and mountains, it set my imagination alive, thinking what it must have been like to live in such a place without ready access to water and air-conditioning.  Being addicted to showers on demand, I would have been a less-than-stellar pioneer woman.  After watching a shoot-out in the streets we retreated to our cool and comfy car and headed to our final destination for the day.

Supper at the Mining Camp Restaurant was a modern re-creation of Old West eating.  With tin cups, plates, and glasses set on long tables in a room lit with lanterns (electric, but dim and nostalgic- looking), we wolfed down beans from a cast iron pot and put away large quantities of BBQ'd ribs, chicken and slaw.

After filling our bellies way too full, we got an unforgettable look at the Superstition Mountains at dusk, just outside the door.  Well, they were probably miles away, but the looked close by.  The easily visible blackened area, high overhead, was eerie evidence of a plane crash some years ago, just one of the many tales that lend the mountain its name.