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.