The Prickly Pear Chronicles - The Livery and Margaritaville!

THE TOMBSTONE ADVENTURE: 

Five or so days of blogs in one. 

Camp for the next 5 days: Tombstone Livery

11/24/2020: Subway Rebel and prickly pear margarita's

We were on the road to Tombstone shortly after 10:00 AM. Traffic wasn't too bad through Phoenix. The 303 and 202 bypasses make it a tolerable drive. Google maps still does not recognize the 202 bypass. Fortunately for me, Dave does recognize it and was leading our caravan south.

We followed Crandall's to the Love's truck stop in Benson. After fueling, we walked to Subway for a quick bite. Cindy, being the rebel of the bunch, sat down at a table designated as off limits due to social distancing. Granted we were the only people in that section but I think it was her way of sticking it to the man and getting back at the rotten service we received.

We arrived at the Tombstone Livery early afternoon. Cowboy Doug escorted us to our camp spot for the next 5 days. I opted to dry camp and asked for the most remote spot he had. I learned last year that they are not what you would call dog friendly here at the livery. Dogs have to be on a leash AT. All. TIMES. No exceptions. That's not an easy task when you have one dog that wants to poop behind a mesquite tree while the other wants to chase a bunny down the wash. On the up-side, I get my exercise taking them for walks several times a day.

Dave and Cindy swung by our camp after everyone settled in. We drove in to Tombstone for dinner and drinks. The Crystal Palace prickly pear margarita's were the bomb. I should have taken a picture of it. It was almost too pretty to drink. All pink and creamy looking topped with a candied prickly pear and lime. One was so good I had to have two. Fortunately, Dave was driving. Apparently I am a light weight in the prickly pear arena. Blake and I settled in to our LQ for the first of our 5 nights of Tombstone adventure.

11-25-2020: FOLGERS IN YOUR CUP!!

Blake's always been a morning person. I guess he comes by that naturally. Where we differ is in our expression and appreciation of the morning. I like the still quiet just before daylight as I go about my morning chores in virtual silence. Blake? Not so much. He shoots up out of bed, banging his head on the low, goose-neck overhang and proceeds to belt: “THE BEST PART OF WAKING UP, IS FOLGERS IN YOUR CUP!! GOOD MORNING, MAMASITA!! What's for breakfast?” Sausage, fried potatoes and applesauce is what's for breakfast. Go back to bed.

To say it's a tad cramped in my LQ with two people is a bit of an understatement. Especially when one of those is a boisterous kid at heart that's always had more energy than a Jack Russel on crack. Still, we are making due fairly well. The hardest part is finding the time and place to write my blog each night. So far, I have not been successful. For one, I feel like I'm ignoring him if I sit down and type. Second, it's more fun conversing with that kid than anything I could put down in type. Third: Trying to type sitting up in the bed with your head scrapping the ceiling is less than ergonomic. I had the brilliant idea of starting a “bathroom blog” but thought better of it after contemplating the difficulty of removing a wireless mouse from the septic tank.

Blake and I drove into Old Tombstone and played tourist for the morning. We paid for the $30.00 dollar tour of the Bird Cage Theater. The Bird Cage is the only original building still standing from Old Tombstone. All others were destroyed by fire or other disasters and restored. The Bird Cage even has the original wallpaper. Pretty cool. You can go down below and see where Doc Holiday and the likes played poker. What surprised us the most was how small the rooms are. A gambler could sit at a poker table, deal cards and reach out to grope a sporting gal as she walked out of one of many, tiny cell like rooms where she plied her trade. It occurred to me that the cells in our prison system are larger and often better equipped.

Doc and The Earps heading to the OK corral

We stopped in at Big Nose Kate's for a drink and...I don't remember if we had something to eat. I think we did? I do remember I had a prickly pear margarita...or maybe two?

Back at the Livery, the Crandall's, Blake and I saddled up and rode the horses on over to Margaritaville (formally known as the Tombstone Monument Guest Ranch.) There is some debate as to whether frequenting the ranch when not a guest of said ranch...is allowed. That didn't stop me last time and it wouldn't stop us this time. I'd asked the staff on my trip last year if they minded us coming in and was told we were more than welcome. I think as long as we didn't show up in groves of 75-80 rowdy mounted shooters...we were good.

Dave and Cindy 

I had my usual prickly pear margarita...or two. I think it was two. Regardless, I was feeling quite chipper. I knew Jack would get me home safe enough and he didn't disappoint.

We had a few more items to squeeze in before the day ended. It is now a known fact that it takes exactly 4 shots of fireball and cranberry juice to get me behind the karaoke mic. Blake and I headed back in to Tombstone later that evening. We stopped in at the Oriental expecting live music. Instead, it was Karaoke at 7:00 PM. Not really my thing...or wasn't. After a good 4 shots of what I call: Jeep'in Juice (named after my sister and I invented mixing fireball and cranberry juice while out jeeping) I was belting out El Paso and some Kid Rock/Cheryl Crow rendition of something about pictures? Or Pitchers? It's all somewhat fuzzy to me still. Almost as fuzzy as 'Cheetah Girls” fuzzy print sweater. Cheetah Girl did have an outstanding voice if not a quirky fashion sense. Blake said: Mom...you got to watch those girls in Cheetah prints. They can be crazy. Indeed Blake...

We stayed and visited with what appeared to be the local regulars: Cheetah Girl – Texas Oil – The Growler and the Meth Head Bros until shortly after 10:00PM. Any later and I would turn into a giant Cranberry covered in fireball. I cut myself off about an hour before driving back to the livery. Still...the fear of being picked up by the border patrol was a valid threat.

11-26-2020: Turkey Day at the Livery and Blake scales the monument.

It is Thanksgiving day. The Tombstone Ghost Riders (host of the Helldorado shoot) put on a thanksgiving meal for those shooters who came early. Before the dinner, Blake and I took a short ride to Ed Schieffelin's rock memorial overlooking Margaritaville.

We let the horses run and Jack and J seemed to enjoy their race to the monument. Blake dismounted to get a closer look at the towering rock structure. He disappeared from view. I began to have flash-backs of him as a two year old who was near impossible to keep in sight. Where the hell is that kid now? Oh no – he wouldn't. Yes, yes he would. About that time I see my youngest perched precariously atop Ed's giant pile of rocks. I imagine that kind of thing is frowned upon, wild west or not. The engine of a side-by-side could be heard coming our directions. Busted. Blake shimmied down the monument, jumped on his horse and we were off. We dove off the side of the road and into the wash to make our escape...like Billy the Kid and Jose Chavez in Young Guns! We managed to outrun the posse and made it safely back to the Livery for Thanksgiving dinner.

11-27-2020: Tombstone or Bust is better than Bucked off.

Dave - Cindy - Blake - Me

I'd finally get to check off an item on my bucket list: Ride into Old Tombstone, belly up to the bar and order a whiskey! (or rather a prickly pear margarita. Maybe two.) The TGR and The Livery made arrangements with the town of Tombstone to let the mounted shooters ride into town, tie up their horses and spend the day in Old Tombstone.

Blake and I rode toward the back. For one, I don't like being in the middle of a large group of riders. Inevitably somebody's horse freaks out and I prefer not to be in the middle of the chaos. Two – and most importantly, I'm likely to have to visit a tall cactus before it's over. I told Cindy, our trail guide taking up the rear, my plan and to not worry about me if I took a detour or two. It was either that, or astronaut diapers. I didn't happen to have any of those.

The large group of shooters rode down Haskell St. to Alan and into Old Tombstone. Cindy the guide pointed out how to get back to the Livery should we opt to not ride back with the group. She said to head towards the brothel then look for the post office on Haskell. Ok. Whores and Haskell. Gotch'ya

I was pretty sure Jack and J'Lo would freak out at the stages coaches coming and going. They didn't disappoint but it was not near as bad as I expected. J'Lo was the most worried. Jack kept an eye on them and his head couldn't get any higher. Coming at him or going by wasn't so bad. It was when they come up behind him that I figured an unscheduled dismount was in my future. I led him through the first couple and the rest weren't as freaky.

The group rode through town and back. The tourist snapped pictures of us as we gave them our very best parade wave. A little girl ran up waving: Your horses are beautiful!” Thank you, I said. If we don't get bucked off on our heads it will be a beautiful day!

We ate lunch at The Crystal Palace. Hamburgers and a Prickly Pear Margarita topped off my menu. I'd forgotten that the Crystal Palace is a cash only establishment. I feared I'd be swabbing the barroom floor, or worse, before I found an extra $20.00 hidden away in my leg horse holster. Phew

I wanted to get back in time for the pre-shoot practice at 2:00 pm. Blake and I rode back a slightly different route out of town. A rider on a gray horse raced up behind us not far out of the city limits. We let him pass and caught back up with him in short order. He'd gotten off on the wrong trail twice. I don't judge. I know the feeling. I learned to listen to my horse on such matters.

We made short of the 4.5 miles back to the Livery by loping through the sandy washes. I swear Jack is half Arabian. The deep sand does not slow him down. He effortlessly races down the wash...zig-zagging around bushes and big rocks like he was born on the Sahara. I guess it's not too far off since he was born and raised in the high desert.

After practice, we drove back to Tombstone with the intent of another round of Karaoke at the Oriental. Instead of Karaoke, they had a live band. It wasn't my kind of music and I wasn't feeling all that great. A sinus infection and chills beckoned me to bed early. Blake drove me back to the Livery before heading back on his own. A hefty dose of Benadryl could not keep me from fretting over that kid. I imagined him being kidnapped, picked up by the border patrol or off in a ditch somewhere. I guess a mom never really stops being a mom. I worried in vain as Blake arrived back at camp to fill me in on his solo trip into Old Tombstone. He had a blast. He said there was an awesome one-man band at the Orient and Karaoke at another...complete with Cheetah Girl – Texas Oil – The Growler and the Meth Head Bros.

The Prickly Pear Chronicles - Stiletto's for Peaches

 

11-22-2020 – NOT SO CLEAN AND POOPED

This might be the shortest blog piece yet. I am pooped. It seems like being a Snowbird means hitting the Arizona sand running and not stopping until you head back north in the spring. We no longer got here Saturday afternoon before hooking back up bright and early Sunday morning for a clean shooter jackpot in Ben Avery. Sign ups ended at 8:45 and shooting commenced at 9:00. Cindy and I were among the last to sign up making us among the last in the go order. I was number 91...Cindy took the last run at 94. Making this the biggest shoot I've been too. Hurry up and wait took on a whole new meaning. It was a good 2.5 to 3 hours between stages. I opted to use J'Lo as my shooting horse. There was a couple looking for a shooting horse for a client. J'Lo would fit the bill perfectly. Whether they take her or not is another thing. You never really know what catches a persons eye. Even though this was a low stress – low stakes shoot, I think I was more nervous than I've been in a long time. I hadn't shot off J'Lo much the last year due to focusing on Jack.

I don't know when my youngest boy got all grown up. I'm use to traveling and going about life pretty much on my own. I walked around the corner after situating the dogs expecting to start tacking up two horses. There they stood...tacked up shin boots and all. Blake handed me the reins grinning: “Is this what it's like being a shooters bitch?” Why yes it is, boy. Now fetch my guns.

We knocked a barrel down on our first course putting us out of the money. J puts you wherever you point her and I pointed her right at it. I reached out with my toe and stretched far as I could to set it back upright but just couldn't get it done. The pressure was off. The next two runs were all for fun and J'Lo ran awesome.

It was dark by the time we pulled out of Ben Avery. We were all wore out and ready to be home. The hour and 15 minutes back to Aquila felt like 12. We pulled into the Shell station in Wickenburg and Blake drove the rest of the way. I am not a night driver, even before I qualified for the senior division. We tossed the horses some food and water and crawled into bed. Tomorrow will be spent preparing for the another long haul to the Helldarado Shoot in Tombstone. Yep – pretty much hit the sand running and no slowing down until spring...but oh so worth it.

11-23-2020: Free quarters and stiletto's for Blake

It would not be a snowbirding adventure without a trip to the West Plaza Green Laundromat. I'm not sure what the “Green” part represents. What I do know is that I suck at doing laundry in one. I got the washing part down for the most part. Not so much with the drier part. I found an empty dryer that wasn't marked “out of order,” which in itself is not an easy task. The majority of the machines in this place are marked as such. A large sign on the wall states: “Mechanic on Duty.” Apparently this particular mechanic is union. He's always on break, out to lunch or in a team building seminar learning how to properly conduct oneself in a diverse workplace. He sure as shit isn't working on any machines in this joint!

I loaded our clothes in a bottom dryer beneath one already spinning. I entered my dollar in quarters and pushed the button. Nothing. I pushed a few more buttons, removed and reinserted the lint drawer...which was as close to a “reboot” as I could imagine with this thing. Still nothing. I hit the change return. Nothing. I gave it a little kick before going in search of the attendant. Said attendant was likely in the same meeting with the mechanic learning how to handle your feelings when you choose to become offended by anyone and everything.

Who knew it required a college degree to operate a clothes dryer. I purchased another 4 quarters and went back for a second round of “are you smarter than a clothes dryer.” A young gal doing her laundry beside me noted my frustration: “You have to push the arrow pointing to your dryer before you put your quarters in. Like this, see?” Holy shit...the girls a freaking laundromat genius. I had been adding time to the guys dryer above mine. I found the guy and told him he might want to check his clothes before they spontaneously combust.  

We were hungry. We went to the Mexican cafe a couple doors down from the laundromat. We both ordered burritos. Mine was supposed to be mild. Blake's was supposed to be spicy. I cut into mine and that's about as far as I got. A sort of grayish green colored substance oozed out. It tasted worse than it looked. By the look on his face, Blake's was as bad. We asked for to-go boxes with the intent of giving them to the dogs and thought better of it. They both ended up in the Safeway trash bin. It was the closest thing to a hazardous waste container as we could find.

Somewhere in between laundry, toxic green ooze and CVS for a bottle of Excedrin, we stopped in at the local goodwill to kill time. One row was dedicated to gaudy, flamboyantly adorned six inch stilettos. “Hey, I know! Let's dress you up as a drag queen for the Helldarado Talent/No Talent show!” I thought it was funny. Blake didn't at the time but I bet with a few beers??

The dryer had just ran out of time when we got back from the toxic waste site. The clothes were only partially dry. The situation required more quarters and more time wasted in laundromat hell. I asked Blake if he had a dollar for quarters. I had a five but didn't want to carry that much change around. With the national change shortage going on, who knows what might befall a person if they are found with pockets full of coin! I'd likely be arrested and my quarters confiscated along with any and all rolls of TP found in my possession.

The nice young gal from earlier, thinking we were short the coin needed, offered to give us all the quarters we needed. She had lots of them out in her truck! Really! She'd go get them..we could have all we needed! It took me a minute to realize her exuberance was directed at Blake . Come to think of it, the little gal at the Coyote Den was way more animated than I've seen since arriving with my youngest offspring. Huh...that boy's becoming more of an asset on this trip each day. I wonder what Pa and Boy will think of him should we meet again?

I took Blake to NRS. He gawked like a kid in a candy store at all those rows and rows of colorful ropes. After a little shopping at Safeway, we stopped at Rancho Rio, a large roping facility. We sat in the bleachers and watched team after team rip down the arena in an attempt to turn a steer. Blake got a little twitchy with roping withdrawals. Blake's never been much of a spectator. He stood all he could before deciding it was time to get back to Aquila and help Dave set up pens.

Tomorrow will be the start of a long week. I'm looking forward to the shoot and visiting Tombstone again. I think it will be more fun than last year as we get to ride our horses from the livery into the town of Tombstone. If that doesn't pan out...there's always Margaritaville...and margarita's make everything better.

The Prickly Pear Chronicles - A Sequel to The Pumpkin Cheesecake Diaries - Alamo to Aguila or Bust - 11-20-2020

 

11-20-2020 - I REMEMBER THE ALAMO!

The Pumpkin Cheesecake diaries II? TPCD – The Sequel? Pumpkin Cheesecake The second? Sequels are often, in my opinion, not nearly as good as the original. Usually lacking in plot uniqueness and originality. A title for this years Snowbirding Adventure has not yet presented itself. The thought crossed my mind that returning on this adventure might lead to a disappointing sequel-like experience: been there...done that. So far, I'm relieved to say that has not been the case.

I had planned to head down around Christmas or shortly after...maybe before if I could swing it. I planned to stay until the Las Vegas shoot the end of February. Like all good plans...they went out the window in short order. Somebody posted something about the Helldarado Thanksgiving Shoot in Tombstone. Cindy posted something about how dang hot it was in Aquila. About the third day of pouring rain, lightning storms and 30mph wind, and I was packing my Arizona Kohl's underwear and making plans to get the hell out of Dodge.

I got entered in the Tombstone shoot and called Cowboy Doug to reserve a dry camp for me and two horses at the Livery.

More miraculous is I managed to talk my youngest, Blake, into traveling down with me by promising to fly him back as soon as he wants. I don't mind traveling alone, but there is comfort in having another heartbeat along that does not belong to a quadruped....or, tetrapod if you happen to be fluent in Latin. Which I'm not. Thank you Google.

I threw everything together with much less planning than last year and made arrangements with my neighbor to take care of the cats, pick up my mail, water the plants and feed Blake's dog, Remi. Remi seems to have made herself right at home at my place. So much so that she won't let my neighbor in the house. He's mentioned something about bribing her with an elk bone if she doesn't warm up to him. I hope it works. Good neighbors are hard to come by.

Blake and I loaded the horses and were on the road by 7:30AM. Cindy had text there was going to be a clean shooter jackpot on Sunday at Ben Avery. I haven't shot in a while and hoped to make the jackpot as a warm up for the Tombstone shoot. By leaving early and having a second driver along, I hoped to make it all the way to Alamo without stopping in Wells over night.

The weather/roads could not have been better. I tried not to get overly smug as I watched Wells shrink from view in my rearview mirror. I considered giving the finger to the parking lot where the previous year I'd gotten a flat tire on my trailer and had to spend most of the morning at the tire shop. Then thought better of tempting fate and simply smiled.

A few stops along the way to stretch our legs (code for pee), let the dogs and horses out to water and roll and pulled into Alamo by 6:00 PM. It was a balmy 53 degrees. A far cry from the iced over water buckets I dealt with last year. With Blake's help, we had the horses situated and the LQ hooked up to power and water. We de-winterized the trailer and nuked yesterday's pizza for dinner.

Several large rigs pulled in through the night. Panic struck. What if somebody steals my horses! I grabbed my locking cable and headed back out to the pens to secure the gates. I was about to secure the lock when my youngest piped up: “That's all great mom...but what's going to keep them from stealing your horses out the other five corners?” Smart ass. I trod back to the trailer in the dark with padlock in hand. Your on your own, Jack. Hopefully nobody wants a shaggy buckskin covered in mud and a cranky mare with her ears pinned to her head.

The night passed without incident and we both slept well. Jack and J'Lo were still secure in their pens come morning; mud, pinned ears and all.

11-21-2020 – PEACHES MEETS SAM

Sam the Saguaro

The five hours from Alamo to Aquila raced by. I chattered nonstop with excitement pointing out all the cool vegetation and rock formations to my last born. My last born...who slept through 95% of the entire orientation. Dang Peaches...you're missing some cool stuff!

We arrived in Aquila with plenty of time to set up and situate the horses. Dave and Cindy have put a lot of work into fixing up an even nicer setup than last year. Jack and J now have their own pen and I'm backed into a spot that's been perfectly leveled with access to power. It's like the Hilton for squatters. I'm in squatter heaven.

First stop: The Coyote Den. The first thing I wanted to do was take Blake to The Coyote Den. The food was better than I remembered. Maybe we were just really hungry and/or really happy to be here and anything would taste good. Whichever, the three mini-tacos where the best I've eaten anywhere.

Dave and Cindy pulled in from a cutting in Wickenburg shortly after. I introduced Blake and took him to meet Sam before dark. Sam didn't say much...being the prickly old stoic he is. I imagine he will reserve his opinions of my offspring until he gets to know him better.

We made quick plans for the clean shooter jackpot tomorrow and the Tombstone shoot next week. I got on-line and booked a flight for Blake back home. I wish he could stay longer, but a deal is a deal. I'm hoping he can come back and stay for a while longer once he gets his cows sold. I know he'd love it here.

I have found that blogging the first couple of days into an adventure is difficult. It's an overload of experiences and emotions. I find it hard to put it all down in anything short of a novel to rival the lengths of those such as: Gone With The Wind or War and Peace. For fear of rambling on the point of overwhelming any potential readers, I've set a limit on the time taken to blog each night (hopefully). I've reached that limit for this first edition of: The Pumpkin Cheesecake Diaries – The Sequel. Title subject to change because that takes a damn long time to type.

Patty would be proud

The Pumpkin Cheesecake Diaries:3-3-2020

It felt like the final day of my snowbird adventure was a miniature replay of the last two months. I squeezed in a little bit of everything. This blog piece will also be brief for two reasons. 1. I want to be up early to get things squared away so we can hit the road as soon as Patty is back from her dental apt. 2. I'm on battery power and my laptop is about to die.

I finished cleaning pens and feeding by 7:30 AM. Cindy had things to do out of town and Dave had a business meeting at Rancho Rio in Wickenburg. For everybody that has been reading my blog, you know the previous sentence is total BS. For those reading The Pumpkin Cheesecake Diaries for the first time: “business meeting “ is code for “roping” if it involves Dave.

One of the many things I'm going to miss about this place is taking my dogs for a walk every morning. You can step out your front door and walk in any direction for as far as your legs can carry you. There are no roads, no concrete – no traffic – no buffalo gnats or mosquitoes. There is something interesting to see down any path you choose. I think the dogs will miss it, too.

After our walk, Patty and I drove into Aguila to check out the Tuesday flea market. Many of the same vendors set up their wares every week. I looked around for Pa and Boy. I must admit part of me was a little saddened they were not there. I bought a vintage oil lamp from a guy that could have been Boy's other brother, Boy. I will think about them every time I light it. I plan to light it a lot. Not so much because I will miss them...but because after my encounter with them at the Family Dollar, I'm a little scared of the dark.

We stopped at the Coyote Den for ice tea before heading back home. I saddle Jack and J and set up a few random cones and barrels. I worked on loping Jack around the cones and barrels in no particular order. We increased our speed as we (I) got more comfortable. Jack did great...he gave me more speed and rated back when I asked. Granted, I wasn't shooting but he did all I asked of him without getting chargy on me.

I swapped to J'Lo. Patty came out to watch and help me work on my lines. She set up the “S” pattern I'd taken the scenic route on at the Winter Range shoot. Cindy had suggested I don't think about shooting and just start running through a course maintaining speed. Between doing that and Patty's coaching on course management...it was like somebody turned the lights on. J'Lo shot through the pattern making flying lead changes and sweeping barrel turns like a jet ski...all without ringing her tail. All I have to do now is hope I can shoot that fast. I am looking forward to practicing what I've learned this last two months from Kenda, Cindy, Patty, Rob and others when I get back to Idaho. Once it all comes together – I know we are going to do better.

Cindy made reservations for 10 at Nicholes West in Congress for a Snowbirds farewell dinner. We met up with Jamie Z, Rob and Shelley B. and Mari and Dan M. at the restaurant. Half way through dinner I felt a bit of melancholy set in. I was really going to miss these people – and so many others I've met on this journey. I can't express the kindness and generosity of damn near every person I've encountered since arriving in the little town of Aguila Arizona 60 days ago. The melancholy lifted as suddenly as it came on. This is not goodbye. I will see these people again! Many I will see at shoots throughout the year; others more often as we live in the same State...some as close as the next town.

While I'm not thrilled about going home – I am less distraught about it than I was when I thought I was leaving a week ago. I would choke on using the word “home” when referring to Weiser Idaho. I would call it 'north' or “The place where I pay taxes” ...anything but “home.” That is ridiculous. Referring to any one place as home does not lesson your attachment to another. Home truly is where my friends and my critters are. It is said that home is where your heart is. I'm OK with that now...because I've discovered that my heart is big enough to encompass two geographically separate places over 980 miles apart. I could not have said that two months ago. Two months ago, I was a new retiree. Today...I am a Snowbird.

The Pumpkin Cheesecake Diaries: 3-2-2020

Today was not exactly a blog worthy day. The sporadic weather bouncing back and forth from rain, sun, wind and a little lightning thrown in...made it a good day to run into Wickenburg. I topped off the propane, filled up with diesel and bought a few groceries for the road trip North.

Patty felt like a coffee from Starducks. She ordered the least froo-frooey drink she could find. If you order a plain coffee they look at you kind of funny. I stared at the overhead menu in a bit of a fog. Nothing recognizable here except the word tea. I ordered the least complicated item with the word tea in it: a $5.00 Matcha Green Tea Latte. Tasted like something my horses would have enjoyed; pureed timothy grass pellets. I'll stick with my .20 cent cup of Lipton. It's cheaper, tastes better and I'm thinking less likely to cause colic.

We stopped at the Coyote Den on the way home to order an ice tea to wash down the Starbucks. The Coyote was hopping! Not sure what was going on in there but you got the feeling the locals were having a get together and nobody invited the snowbirds.

I wanted to take the dogs for a walk and say goodbye to Sam the Saguaro...again. I said goodbye when I thought I was leaving a week ago..but this was for reals this time. I don't wish another broken tooth on Patty even if it would get me another week. Really...I don't. Honest. Besides...the snakes are out and only going to get worse.

We made our way cross country toward Sam keeping a sharp lookout for snakes (all 16 species of them), bobcat the size of cougar, scorpions, quicksand, jumping white cholla, Javelina AND desert snapping turtles.

I said my goodbye's to Sam. He's always been the silent, stoic type unable to show his emotions. Today was no different...but I knew underneath that spiny exterior lay a cacti's heart distraught with grief over my leaving. “Farewell you old prick...until next year.”

The Pumpkin Cheesecake Diaries: 3-1-2020

ALL ABOARD FOR COURSE #22

A quarter to five comes pretty early for a snowbird. I fed the horses at 5:00 AM and prepared to hit the road by 6:30 AM. Normally I arrive at a shoot the day before. I like to get settled in and not feel rushed. ..sort of 'get all my balloons in a row' type thing. This would be my first shoot were I rolled in the morning of...shot, and rolled out. Wasn't nearly as stressful as I thought. You didn't have time to stew about things and work yourself into a ball of nerves. The downside being you didn't have as much time to visit with your shooting friends. Somewhere along this adventure I've become a social butterfly. Eh...maybe not a butterfly...more like a social caterpillar that will one day morph into a butterfly...it could happen? Right? No?

The Winter Range shoot started at 9:00 AM. A three stage, one day shoot paying fastest time per class per stage. No overall class payout. I entered main match and shotgun.

Cindy, Patty and I, along with horses, Cowboy and J'Lo (Patty didn't enter), pulled into Ben Avery shooting facility a little after 8:00 o'clock. We paid our fees at the office and prepared to shoot.

The Senior Lady's 1's go first in this part of the country, unlike the Pacific Northwest where we start with the upper class 6's and work down to the 1's. I prefer it when they start with the sixes. I like to watch them run so I can see the proper way to run a course. Starting with the 1's is a bit unnerving for the 1's. I am a SL3 -regardless of which end they start on, I'm going to be in the middle so I'm relatively unaffected either way. My friend Lynn is a SL1 and was first out of the gate today. I have to hand it to her, she handled it in stride and had three good runs.

My first course was acceptable. I shot clean. I didn't ask for a lot of speed. I tried to run it in a way that took up the least amount of real estate. I would run it different next time. I would run it taking wider barrel turns and less lead changes. Smoother will always be faster. Shoot and learn...

My second run was a train wreck. Well, more of a train ride, actually. A nice leisurely train ride through the countryside. I'm still not certain what happened other than I got completely and totally lost in the pattern....which totally sucks because it's one of the easiest patterns to run. It's called the “S”. By the time I crossed the finish line – I had run the entire alphabet. I 'think' what happened is we over-ran the first gate which shot us out toward the rundown barrel. Instead of cutting back across the arena to the second gate – I got lost – holstered and drew my second gun, turned the rundown barrel...realized too late what I did and ran toward home. I changed my mind just before crossing the timer. I paid my money, damn it...I was finishing the course. I circled J'Lo and made my second pass at the rundown barrel. I'm fairly certain I heard a collective “WTF” from the crowd. Now I'm totally confused on which gun to draw. I shoot AT the second gate (couldn't hit the broad side of a barn if I were standing in it at this point) and make a third pass at the rundown barrel? By this time I'm out of ammo on whichever gun I pulled. When it was all said and done, I made two if not three rundown barrel turns, two rundowns and still left four balloons standing. Some days your the ammo...some days you can't shoot yourself out of a wet paper bag.

I redeemed myself on the third run. I didn't know it until after I got home, but I won stage 3. I don't know if they will send me a check or if you forfeit by not being at the awards. I hope not...it could be like 6 bucks...that's two boxes of Pop-Tarts and a Twinkie!

If I had known shotgun was not open and limited – I would not have entered. I'm glad I didn't know. I love shooting shotgun whether I win or not. There were five of us in the shotgun class. Three young gals I normally couldn't outrun on their worst and my best day and Don Evans, SM5. Don won first. I placed second shooting against 4's and 5's non gender/non age split. I'll take it even without a check.

Cindy and Cowboy had three beautiful runs winning all three stages in their class and placing 10^th in the overall. Not too shabby!

We stopped at the Mesa for dinner and made it home around 5:30 PM. By the time we got unloaded the wind had picked up putting the kibosh on Patty's nightly fire. We caught up with Dave who had a good day roping on his faithful buckskin “Woodrow” by placing second. It wasn't until I started to type this blog and got on CMSA to see how Lynn and Cindy placed that I discovered I'd won my last stage. Shooting, like life...has lessons tucked within the folds of everyday moments. Today I learned to never give up. It ain't over until the fat lady sings, or...in my case: It ain't over until the SL3 takes a train ride through course #22.

The Pumpkin Cheesecake Diaries: 2-29-2020

Leap Days and Turtle Turds

This will be a brief blog..or an attempt at one anyway. I have to get stuff ready and be up early in the morning to get to the Winter Range shoot at Ben Avery. The blog won't do the day justice. I will post more pictures with it since, after all, pictures are worth a hill of beans more than anything I could come up with verbally.

Patty and I saddled our horses, Mocha and Jack, for a ride behind Eagle Eye Mountain with the intent of checking on the hobo camp to see if anything had changed. We trotted up the deep sand of the big wash to power-line road and headed east. Not far up power-line, we spotted a freshly cut saguaro with a neon orange mark of spray paint. I still don't believe the “Vegetation Management” guys I ran into a few weeks back when they said they were marking vegetation to be cleared that would interfere with the power lines. Nothing this side of the red woods grows tall enough to come anywhere near those power lines. Whatever – this is supposed to be a short blog so I will try to stay off my soap box. Suffice it to say, it was kind of sad. I snapped a few pictures, grumbled and moved on.

The power-line road forks before it ascends through a saddle. We took the right hand fork following a
less established road. We didn't get far when I looked down and there in the middle of the path sits a turtle (technically a desert tortoise) about the size of a small dinner plate. I have never seen a turtle in the wild and sure as shit didn't expect to see one in Arizona! I dismounted and checked him/her out. If I moved...it moved toward me. It ambled over to a flower and snapped it off, then move on to the next. “Don't let it grab your finger!” Patty laughed. We took turns petting and feeding the turtle. I snapped a bunch of pictures and got out my can of Beanee Weenee's for a Beanee/Turtle photo op. How could I not? I could dedicate an entire blog to that one turtle. To hell with Javelina....we saw a freaking turtle! We took care to get the horses around him without stepping on him and went on our way. I could have stayed there and played with it all day.

We passed by the Hobo camp on the other side of the fence line. We would come back to it later. The road curved around to the south through a thick forest of Saguaro. Do they call a whole bunch of Saguaro a forest? It was about the prettiest area I've seen since being here. I did not want to turn around. I'm riding between giant saguaro, blooming ocotillo, teddy-bear cholla and a plethora of other desert flora at the end of February in a T-shirt. I must have lived in the desert in a previous life. Maybe not in the summer...perhaps a migratory nomad.

Another dirt path led toward a box canyon of sorts. Definitely can't leave without seeing what's up there. Large rock formations rose around us. Mine tailings spilled forth from a small mine opening on midway up a mountain to the south. A little farther up the path and a several rock structures nestled into the canyon begged exploration. I asked Cindy about it later and she said it was a sheep camp. That makes sense...there was traces of rock walls used as fencing scattered about. The entire camp was protected on all sides with a good sized ravine that would carry run off and dump it into a sizable reservoir. It would be cool to see running with water.

We looped back and crossed the fence to hobo camp. Nothing had changed...same garbage scattered around...minus the bible I picked previously. I pray that the people who stayed there have found a place to stay out of the elements. I had a gut feeling from the items left behind that a family had stayed there; from blankets and small mattress pads to a pair of pajamas belonging to a child or young adult. Dog toys and a box of empty propane bottles were among the items. The discarded debris didn't suggest it was a weekend camping trip. But why leave it all behind? What happened to them? There was other garbage along the power-line that was obviously dumped out of laziness and disrespect...this seemed more desperate.

We were back in the big wash. The horses got a little antsy as a man in a white shirt, light colored horse and towing another horse, appeared and disappeared through the mesquite and grease-wood bushes. Range cattle did the same all around us. Patty pointed at the bushes lining the wash. “A SNAKE...it's a big one, too!” I got a glimpse of the thing as it slithered through the bushes...for a long time. It was a big one. The rattlers were out. Maybe it is time to head north after all.

A bit of the old Jack appeared under my saddle...on the muscle and gnashing his teeth. The guy towing the horse was talking to another guy on a four wheeler out checking on the cattle. He didn't know we were there. The four wheeler roared to life and started across the wash. I was afraid he was going to cross the wash where Jack pranced and chomped at the bit. Fabulous...I would get bucked off AND snake bit. I stepped off before I got dumped. Four wheeler guy made an abrupt turn when he noticed us and crossed in a different spot. I climbed back on and we were off...rather quickly. Jack didn't quit prancing and gnashing until we got out of the wash and in the open where he could see around him. New Jack kicked back in and we were good to go.

We made it home without getting bucked off, snake bit or turtle attacked and saw some amazing country to boot. I gave the horses a bath and turned them out to graze on what green grass they could find. Day's like today should definitely come around more than every four years. Happy Leap Year! 

The Pumpkin Cheesecake Diaries: 2-28-2020

"Be Donald"

Patty left early in the morning to meet up with friends at Winter Range. Dave, well...Dave went to a roping. There are few consistencies in life: death, taxes...and Dave's obsessive compulsive roping disorder (OCRD) among the most prevalent. It's a good thing he's good at it or Cindy would have to hide his roping gloves.

Cindy and I set up a drill we learned at one of the Kenda clinics for mounted shooting. The drill incorporates several gates and three barrels. The center barrel is your starting and ending point. You circle the center barrel then shoot a single gate...round an end barrel and shoot a three target cluster before returning to the center barrel making a gun change and shooting an identical pattern on the opposite end. Once you get that down...you run it in the opposite direction.

We each shot the drill both directions before setting up an actual pattern. The random number generator on my phone picked #83. Cindy showed me a better way to run. I have a tendency to want to run a course so that I shoot the rundown cross. When I first started shooting, a lot of shooters told me it was harder to shoot the rundown “weak” (cross shots)...so that's all I practiced. Now I prefer it. It's also how you shoot shotgun. Some shooters can shoot a shogun run “strong” but those guys might be freaks. Way beyond my skill level.

It was a good practice. I focused on the things Kenda taught. “Shoot late and you'll be right on time.” - “Lock on – arm straight – tight grip – chin to your shoulder – mean, hunter face.” It's also helpful to practice when you have another person there to help point out things you might not know your doing. And not just the things you might be doing wrong – but pointing out the good things, too. Offering encouragement instead of criticism. There is a place for constructive criticism – but maybe there's an even bigger need for encouragement. Especially among women. I agree with Cindy when she says that women are often tougher on themselves than need be.

When I get to feeling self conscious...which is often – I tell myself to “Be Donald” from the movie“Space Cowboy's” staring Clint Eastwood, Donald Sutherland, Tommy Lee Jones and James Gardner. The four are standing in line buck naked for a physical. Clint, Tommy Lee and Gardner are self conscious about being exposed. They awkwardly try to cover themselves and melt into the shadows unseen. Meanwhile, Donald, a safe bet the least attractive of the four, is standing chest out, feet apart – hands on hips with a shit eating grin on his face tall and proud. He is overflowing with confidence and self assurance. In his mind, he sees himself as a young man in his prime flaunting it for all to see. He believes it enough that others can't help but believe it too.

It's that kind of confidence and devil may care attitude that we need to succeed. While I don't plan on standing buck naked in line with anybody – friends or not – I will try to think of that scene. When I go out to make a run....start my circle with confidence. Pull my gun like I mean it...assume the hunter position and grip the handle of my runnin' irons like Nancy Peloski herself is trying to pry it from my hands. Be aggressive...be purposeful...be Donald.

~

Patty surpassed her Bonfire skills with the best yet. Perfect toe warming coals and little smoke. Dave and Cindy joined us around the fire when they got home. I brought out the apple pie that Jamie Z. had put together shortly after I got here nearly two months ago. It's been in Cindy's freezer waiting to be baked. Cindy doesn't have an oven in her RV. I baked it in my portable Coleman Oven I bought with money co-workers donated for my retirement. Why these newer LQ's come with a microwave instead of an oven makes no sense. I use the thing for a bread box.

I look forward to Patty's evening bonfire each night. Four pairs of boots propped up on the cinder-block ring and faces toward the star filled sky. Discussions of the days events and plans for what the next might bring...all carried into the night in a wisp of smoke that smells of mesquite.

The Pumpkin Cheesecake Diaries: 2-27-2020

The Disposable World We Live In

Second chance days don't come around often. Today would have been my last full day in Arizona. Over half that day spent on pre-travel prep. Propane to fill, hay to load, diesel to top off and 4 or 5 days worth of groceries to buy for the road home. The stock portion of the trailer would need to be cleaned, reorganized and repacked. All the water tanks would need topping off and the waste water emptied. But today was no longer my last full day. That day won't come for another week. Today I could do anything I wanted – because today, was my second chance day.

Patty and Cindy had plans of their own. They invited me but I don't think they were surprised when I

declined. I knew they were going to have fun but I wanted to spend the day in the desert on my horse. I text Lynn and told her of my plans. Her and Pete would pick me up at Crandall's about noon. I would throw in with them. My trailer was out of commission for a few days while Handyman Dave did some repairs. One of the horses backed out catching a shoe on the bumper trim. “Diamond plated chrome” my behind. More like cheap Tin-Foil. Dave hammered, riveted and calked the thing back into serviceable shape.

Lynn, Peter and I drove up Eagle Eye Road looking for a good place to park and unload. We settled on FS Rd. 9111 just up from Big Little Horn Peak Rd. It wasn't easy getting the rig in and out, but Lynn maneuvered over washes, around grease-wood and between mesquite bushes like a pro. If it had been me driving – Dave would be busy fixing stuff for a week.

We didn't have a plan or a specific destination in mind. It's a good thing...we didn't have a clue where we were or what to expect....exactly my kind of day. Lizards dashed here and there. If the lizards are out...the snakes are out. We stuck to the roads and open country when possible and kept an eye out for any one of the sixteen species of rattlers. Rattlers are pissy this time of year as they come out of hibernation. I'd like to avoid all 16 types of them.

The desert is on the verge of exploding with color. Orange poppies blanket the southern slopes of hillsides. Vivid green ocotillo arms topped with brilliant scarlet blossoms compete with wildflowers of yellow, purple and pink. The saguaro tops look like they are capped in snow as buds get ready to burst into fragrant white blossoms that smell like honeydew.

We dropped down into a wash and followed it up stream to it's end. It felt like a miniature Grand Canyon ride as the red walls of the little canyon narrowed in on us. We popped up onto another road that intersected the wash. The road led to an abandoned mine. One shaft opened up into a hillside framed in upright timbers. Another shot straight down into the ground like a gaping, lidless man-hole. Both mines were fenced off with a few strands of rusty barbed wire and a sign warning of imminent death should one decide to go mine spelunking.

A late 40's early 50's?? Champion Studebaker chassis riddled with bullet holes and left to rust, stood as a reminder of a society wrought with the mindset that everything is disposable. Who was the last person to drive it? What was their life like? Were they the first owner and if so...did they scrimp and save until they had enough money to buy their first car? The car was a beauty the day it rolled off the assembly line. The new owner bursting with pride and excitement of owning this first set of wheels. The sound of independence and freedom roaring from it's powerful engine. And now, here it sits: a rusted heap of metal discarded and forgotten in the arid desert of the southwest.

Well...that was depressing. Let's move on.

We left the old mine (Apache Mine according to my Garmin) and circled back toward the trailer. I

picked a route that made a loop out of part of our ride. No sense backtracking over country we already rode. We'd picked a ridge line across the highway as our landmark before we struck out...as long as we kept that ridge in sight and the setting sun on our faces we were sure to make our way back. I don't know if my sense of direction is improving or I have an easier time finding my way in the desert. I'm hoping it's a little of both.

We passed the trailer (horse's weren't real thrilled with that one) and rode to the top of the mine I'd hiked to the week before. Lynn wanted to check it out, plus, not stopping right at the trailer at the end of a ride helps to keep horses from getting trailer sour or chargy on the way home...IMNHTO (In My Non Horse Trainer Opinion)

Lynn once again managed to get the rig turned around in a spot I swear wasn't big enough to turn a VW bug around. We stopped at The Coyote for ice tea and a burger before Lynn dropped me and the horses off at home. It's always a bit emotional saying goodbye to Pete. Even after you convince him you will see him again before heading out...he gets teary eyed...I get teary eyed...he grabs you in that all encompassing hug before making the sign for friends and promising to call. A rusted old Studebaker might be disposable...but good friends are anything but.

The Pumpkin Cheesecake Diaries: 2-26-2020

Photo courtesy: BLM.ORG 

I've been in a frump the last couple of days. Watching the end of my adventure creep nearer is a bit depressing. To take my mind off it – I signed up for another Kenda clinic. I cleaned out my trailer to make room for Cindy and Patty's horses – Cowboy and Mocha. I might as well use the septic dump while we were there. Plus, taking my rig freed Dave up to take the bumper pull roping. A person might get the impression that boy likes to rope.

Cindy spotted a band of wild burros on a hillside. I was too busy feeling sorry for myself to appreciate them. “If I didn't have to go home in two days, maybe I could have spotted a herd while out riding and snapped some pictures. I bet if I had a little more time, I could have spotted a Javelina, too.” Instead of appreciating all the amazing things I've seen and done in the last two months...I've been busy focusing on the ones I've missed.

J'Lo did really well at the clinic. Me...not so much. Kenda said my form is great...I'm riding good...my course management and lines are spot on. The reason I'm missing balloons is I'm shooting too soon. I need to “slow my mind down.” I have to remember to “Shoot late and you'll be right on time.” “If I didn't have to go home in a couple days...I could take a few more clinics and start hitting all my balloons again. What do I care...I'll just donate for the weekend shoot in Vegas, go 'home,' kick rocks and eat worms.”

Dave met us at Chili's for a late lunch after the clinic. I don't normally eat out this much. “What difference does it make. I have to go home in a few days. Doesn't matter if I pack on a few extra pounds from greasy restaurant food. The extra layer of fat will help keep me warm when I'm back in Idaho freezing my ass off.”

I was happy to see Patty eat something besides cold scrambled eggs. The space formerly known as her tooth was feeling a little better. She would know more about her travel schedule after her dentist appointment next week. I told her to keep in touch and I would wait in Alamo after my Vegas shoot and we could travel back together from there. Dave and Cindy shook their heads: “Oh for crying out loud, quit your belly aching...scratch Vegas, enter Winter Range here at Ben Avery and travel back together so neither one of you are traveling out across the godforsaken desert alone. we are sick and tired of you whining about not wanting to go home.” That's not exactly how they said it...but the meaning was close.

In that moment....the entire restaurant filled with dancing unicorns and rainbows. I don't have to go home in two days?! Patty's tooth...or the space formerly known as her tooth...had bought me a good week. I feel like I should pick up the dentist bill.

Cindy rode home with Dave. Patty and I pulled out of the Chili's parking lot in brighter spirits than when we arrived. We jabbered away as I kept a close lookout for the burro's. Patty spotted one off by itself. I missed it, but that's OK. I had another week to look for burro's, Javelina and maybe even one or two of the sixteen species of rattlesnakes that live here.

Patty was already planning the bon-fire she would build when we got “home.” She realized what she said as soon as she spoke the word: “Home.” “It feel's like home, doesn't it? I mean Aguila...it feels like home.” Yes Patty...it feels like home to me, too.”