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.

Trail Log: 11-27-2020

Riding into Old Tombstone from Alan St. 

•  Trail: Tombstone Livery to Old Tombstone
• Miles: 9.0
• Riders: Self - Blake - Cindy - Dave - large group of mounted shooters (biggest group to ride into Tombstone from the TGR shoot history. 
• Horses: Jack - J'Lo - Cowboy - Tucker

Notes: One check off my bucket list! I wasn't able to ride into Tombstone last year...at least not legal like and/or as far as anybody can prove! This year we were able to ride in with the shooters who came for the Tombstone Ghost Riders Helldarado shoot at the Tombstone Livery. 

I was worried my horses wouldn't handle the stage coaches going in and out of the streets of old Tombstone. They were a little freaked out, but not bad. Jack mostly didn't like it when they come up behind him. They did a lot better than I hoped! Dave, Cindy, Blake and I stopped in at the Crystal Palace for lunch and a prickly pear margarita before heading back to the livery. Me and Blake left before some of the others so we could let the horses run for a bit. I think my favorite thing about AZ is running Jack through the sandy washes. Something exhilarating about it. 

Well...my laundry is done. I managed to get three trail logs posted before my quarters ran out. Sweet! 

Jack and J waiting for us to get out of the bar. 

Trail Log: 11-26-2020

Tombstone Livery

•  Trail: Tombstone Monument    
• Miles: 4.02
• Riders: Self - Blake
• Horses: Jack - J'Lo

Notes: Blake and I rode up to the Tombstone Monument. It is a monument to Ed Schieffelin, prospector and founder of Tombstone. Ed went in search of silver. A friend and fellow army scout told Ed that the only stone he was going to find out there would be his tombstone. When Ed struck it rich, to the tune of 85 million in silver over the course of Tombstone's mining history...Ed named the town Tombstone. 

Blake dismounted to get a closer look at the monument. He soon disappears. Then next time I see him he's climbed to the top of the monument. He said it was easier going up than down. The sudden arrival of a side-by-side coming towards us prompted a swift remount and we skedaddled into the wash before we got arrested for illegal monument scaling. 

Trail Log: 11-25-2020

 

• Trail: Tombstone Livery to Margaritaville
• Miles: 4
• Riders: Self - Blake - Cindy - Dave
• Horses: Jack - J'Lo - Cowboy - Tucker

Notes: We made it to the livery Tuesday afternoon. Rode on over to the Tombstone Monument Guest Ranch (AKA Margaritaville) for a prickly pear margarita! 

Having a hard time finding the time to blog or log trails miles. Just got back from the Phoenix airport where I kicked Blake out at the curb and sped away. Literally. That place is a madhouse. Currently sitting at the West Plaza Laundry washing close and blogging in between cycles! Good hell...

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

Trail Log: 11-16-2020

 

• Trail: WRT - Presley to 2nd Green Gate
• Miles: 8.16
• Riders: Self
• Horses: Jack and J'Lo
• Dogs: Hank

Notes: One of those gloomy days and didn't feel all that great so I climbed in the saddle to get some fresh air. Felt WAY better. I had planned to ride to the big trestle but by the time I got the mud off my horses there was only time to ride in a few miles if I wanted to get back before dark. I don't mind riding in the dark but it's kind of cold and is supposed to snow. I wasn't dressed for snow. Plus I'm a whimp.