You
never know what you're going to see when you're on the road in
Arizona.
There it
was, strange graffiti inside the bathroom door of a Black Canyon City
gas station: ZION. It was accompanied by an eclectic assortment of
mystical symbols – the Star of David included, of course.
Forget
your stereotypes. They won't do you much good on these roads where
this time of year you can often see yellow wildflowers all the way to the horizon.
Soon we
were going eastward, down the 260, along rocky, spacy mountains.
Turns out the Fossil Creek Road was closed. We were hoping to take it
to the Fossil Springs Wilderness, but that would have to be some
other time.
Suddenly,
Em pulled over and said, “I need to do something a little bit
experimental – I'll be right back.” She went and got up close and
personal with some of the volcanic rocks.
I got
out of the troque and followed her. I grabbed her waistband, so she
wouldn't fall into a canyon with mysterious footprints in the sand at its bottom.
The footprints looked big, could have been human, but there was no way to be sure. They were a long way down. We were also close to the Mogollon Rim, home of the Mogollon Monster, our Arizona version of Bigfoot.
Further
down the road we stopped again. Em oggled some weird rock formations and speculated about their origins, while I found a business card for
Tranmisiones El Bronco and an empty L&M cigarette pack.
I had
visions of the Monster smoking cigarettes while having the tranny on
his carro yonkeado worked on.
Then I
heard a helicopter approaching. Were about to be busted by some
clandestine agency?
I was
expecting to hear: “GET BACK IN YOUR VEIHICLE AND MOVE ON. THERE IS
NO CRYPTOZOOLOGICAL PHENOMENON HERE. WE HAVE YOUR LICENSE NUMBER AND HAVE IDENTIFIED YOU BY FACIAL RECOGNITION SOFTWARE. DO NOT TELL ANYONE
ABOUT THIS OR YOU WILL BE ARRESTED.”
But no,
it wasn't a helicopter -- it was a group of bikers, some on
three-wheelers.
It was April, and there were patches of snow by the roadside, under the pines. We were high in these mountains.
In the
town of Strawberry, we found the other end of Fossil Creek Road. It
was closed, too. We'll have to schedule an expedition there for the
future. Meanwhile, monsters or anything else were safely hidden in
the Fossil Springs Wilderness.
The town
of Pine had some interesting businesses: Rusty's Taxidermy, Arizona
Gun Runners, Sidewinder's Saloon, and THAT Brewery & Pub.
At
the Tonto Natural Bridge we proceeded to “Enjoy with caution” as
the signs said, getting our adventure fix among the natural hazards,
“scrambling from rock to rock.” Em was soon up to her waist in
the creek (until she remembered her wallet was in her pocket). There was an active bee hive over the main waterfall, and
we saw forms more fantastic than Max Ernst's decalomania paintings.
Toward
Payson, guys were pedaling bikes loaded with cargo up the
mountain roads.
In Payson, we had Mexican food at El
Sierra again. The misspelling on the hand-painted sign had been
doctored, but was still funky. The food is good, and the psychedelic
sombreros and fantastic carved and painted chairs are still burning
after-images into patrons' retinas.
On the way home we passed the Jim
Jones Shooting Range. Must be some other Jim Jones. The infamous cult
leader died in that Guyanese mass suicide decades ago. Still, I
imagine folks taking shots of cyanide-laced Kool-Aid . . .
The blazing wildflowers took my mind
off such things as we made our way back to civilization.
Back in Phoenix, on the 202, a
sign announced that HAZARDOUS MATERIALS MUST EXIT.
So we did.
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