Pass
more gas and leave hope behind The Quartzsite Camel
It was one of
those days where you start out doing one thing and end up doing
something all together different. Originally, I talked myself in to
going to a clean shooter jackpot at Ben Avery. I said if I shot clean
in practice, I would go. I shot clean in practice. I'd have to find
another excuse not to go. I know it would be a blast, but didn't
feel like driving all the way over there and back and have to turn
around a day later and head back over to a clinic. Too much driving
makes me sea sick. I also needed to get stuff lined out for a few
days of dry camping in Tombstone.
My trailer
batteries haven't been charging correctly the last week or so. The
LP/CO monitor kept beeping. I couldn't stop the beeping unless I
pulled the fuse on the monitor. A quick Google search revealed that
the LP/CO detector is also a low battery indicator. I searched for a
blown fuse...messed with the battery disconnect...wiggled every loose
wire I could find and buried a dead cat in the back yard for luck.
Not really. They don't have a back yard here.
Dave thought the batteries were probably boiled dry. It's a pain in the butt to get
those batteries out and check them over. Normally they weigh about as
much as a small Buick. Each battery was 10 pounds lighter. Boiled
dry. They took over a gallon of water a piece to fill. I plugged them
back in and let them charge over night. I unplugged while I spent
the day in Quartzsite Arizona perusing the worlds largest yard
sale..(aka a whole lot of junk.)
The Quartzsite
road trip was also the result of a change in plans. I planned to stay
home, get some paperwork done, do some shopping for Tombstone and
stew about my battery situation. Somewhere between breakfast and
scooping copious amounts of horse poop, the idea of joining Dave,
Cindy and Patty on the drive to Quartzsite became more appealing than
fighting hordes of team-roper traffic in Wickenburg.
It was worth
risking another bout of motion sickness just having Dave as our tour
guide. You are never quite certain if half of what Dave comes up with
is fact or something he ad libs for his own amusement.
I try to jot down
tid-bits here and there so I can further research them when I'm back
at my laptop. I would say that 85% of his information is spot on. 10%
is based, at least in part, on fact and the remaining 5% is what I
call Dave-ism's. It's that 5% that convinced me to climb back into a
vehicle for the 60 mile trip down Highway 60.
US 60 is the
highway time forgot. Abandoned markets, gas stations, cafe's and
homes dot the highway from beginning to end. Bypassed by the addition
of the newer, faster I10 freeway...Highway 60 is a ghost route of an
era gone by; coming to life a few short months of the year with the
migration of the Snowbird. RV communities appear like an oasis of
aluminum and fiberglass. Once the winter season ends, the exodus of
this mobile culture vanishes...leaving the spirits of the past to
walk the desert sands in a loneliness swept by the arid winds.
We
passed through towns with names such as Wendon,
Hope, Desert Wells and
Salome. In 1904,
humorist and newspaper publisher, Dick Wick Hall, along with
investors Earnest Hall and Charles Pratt, founded Salome - named
after Pratt's wife, Grace Salome Pratt. The story goes that Grace
Salome stepped out of a car barefoot and quickly took to dancing to
keep her feet from burning on the hot desert sand. The humorist
writes that: “Salome is so dry, the local frogs don't know how to
swim.”
Quartzsite is now
known as “The Desert Phenomenon.” Millions of RV'ers and vendors
gather here for two months out of the year to buy, sell and trade
just about anything and everything a Snowbird may or may not need.
From buckets of rocks to bungee cords and from motor homes to MAGA
hats. If you can imagine it – you can bet on finding it somewhere
in the acres and acres of booths.
Dave dropped us
off at one end of the “Phenomenon” and disappeared. If we'd had a
horse with us, I'd know for certain where he'd gone. My second guess
would be something to do with guns. Cindy, Patty and I perused isle
after isle of tools, gadgets, gizmos, art, jewelry, clothing and
décor. I purchased a .28 cent sink strainer. How I lived without
that little gem for 55+ years is baffling.
We checked out
other sections of the Phenomenon, made a few purchases and grabbed a
bite to eat at the “Times Three” family restaurant. If there was
an explanation as to what the name is in reference too...I missed it.
YOU'RE NOW BEYOND
HOPE. Had we not been leaving Hope Arizona, I might take exception to
that particular sign. There are all sorts of quirky little things of
note in these all but forgotten Arizona towns. You might glance over
to your right and spot a fishing boat beached in the desert sand
under a saguaro with a skeleton wearing a fishing vest and holding a
rod and reel. To the left is a huge John Deere grain combine that
hasn't moved in two decades. Farther down the road, tourist pull over
to snap a photo of the giant propane tank with “Passmore Gas and
Propane” painted across it's length. Hi Jolly's trading post in
honor of the Syrian/Greek born caretaker of the US Cavalry's first
and only Camel Corps.
These roadside
attractions, while most are humorous, have an underlying sadness to
them. It is as if they are a desperate attempt to be remembered; towns
refusing to fade like a mirage into the scorching horizon. I am filled with a sense of gladness knowing that as a
Snowbird, I might play a small part in keeping the story of these
unique communities relevant. Abandoned by progress perhaps, but not
forgotten.
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