Journeys

Go, see, do
February 7, 2020

An entire six days stretching out in front of us; plans are made, such as they are. The primary intention is to get out there and see what is to be seen. Final destination: Bosque del Apache, but first is the journey.

Happily, we determined to go from here to there via two-lane nearly traffickless byways. Early of a morning (6 a.m.ish to be not quite exact), we hopped into an overloaded Taco the Tacoma (Ruby stayed in the barn this trip; her many miles have earned her a rest) and departed Prescott.

Just prior to a trip departure, I always find myself conflicted. I want to travel; I desire exploration; I yearn to be out and about and am excited to have the opportunity, but then, just before leaving, my brain tells me it wants to stay home. “Why go gallivanting off” it cajoles, “when you can stay home?”. I am at a loss as to why that is, but so far, I have been able to ignore those thoughts and continue on. Once I’m saddled up and on my way, all doubt is left behind.

Ignoring the cities and freeways, we began our eastward journey by going through the Verde Valley and onto the Mogollon Rim where there remains a goodly amount of snow on the ground. Our route was on the General Crook Trail/Highway 260/60.

Our first turnaround (they are so very much easier off-interstate) was when I saw a monument hidden in tree shadows just as we whizzed by. The marker was for something called 13-mile rock. If I have ever heard of it before, the memory has fizzed out of my brain like an Alka Seltzer cocktail, so I looked it up on my trusty laptop. It has to do with the late 1800s military resupply trail that linked Fort Whipple in Prescott with Fort Apache far to the east. Trees were slashed and/or rocks inscribed as mile markers along the way, with a V added as the road wound eastward from Fort Verde.

We walked out to the canyon’s rim from the monument, but because of the extreme morning chill, decided that a return later to see the actual marked rock was preferable to interrupting our drive further.

Gouging & cinder cones. . .

It seems that everywhere along the way, even the most isolated off-the-beaten-track spots, gasoline is substantially less expensive (44 cents!) than the cheapest price in Prescott. I am at a loss for a reason it is so.

Far east on our journey, we found ourselves still in high country but no longer such mountainous terrain, and were surprised that the landscape became dotted with numerous volcanic cinder cones and lava flows. It was interesting how drastically our surroundings transformed.

El Malpais . . .

Coming up on Springerville, roadside signs reminded me that an archaelogical site of note was nearby, so again, I turned to my laptop for edification. The sought-for website was not quite as enlightening as I might have hoped, but I at least learned there was an associated museum on Springerville’s main drag. We found the place with no trouble, woke the volunteer desk sitter with our approach and learned a good bit about the unique El Malpais site while perusing an excellent collection of artifacts.

Clearly, we will not being seeing the actual prehistoric ruin anytime soon: it is open only to reserved guided tours and only during warmer months, so a return will be necesary for that. Our helpful docent, once awakened, was knowledgable and helpful. We excused ourselves finally, explaining that we had still quite a distance to travel. Just as we were edging out the door, he suggested that we really should go down to the end of the hall to see the Renee Cushman museum.

His recommendation was intriguing (he mentioned a Rembrandt as inducement) so down the hall we went and there my mind was boggled at what we found. I won’t go into great detail about the installation, but I will say that a person should never drive through Springerville without allowing ample time to enjoy those two rooms.

In that unpretentious facility, there is an historic art and artifact collection donated first to the LDS Wards and from them to the city of Springerville. There were stunning 16th century tapestries, paintings, busts, rugs, antique commodes, glassware, clocks - even a Rembrandt sketch! It was amazing!

In the midst of it all was a 9-foot Steinway grand piano with a tone so melodious that I was covered with goosebumps when Chris played it. The whole of the experience was transporting!

The Morleys and Datil . . .

Shortly after we stopped at a roadside marker memorializing Ada McPherson Morley, an early rancher near Datil, New Mexico, and a lifelong crusader against political corruption and for women’s rights, we saw a monument that evidently marks the site of her ranch. Interesting that after her husband died under mysterious circumstances while working in Mexico, she continued on with her activities, ran the ranch and raised three children. In 1941, her daughter wrote the well-known autobiographical “No Life for a Lady”, which now that I have it in context, I will read.

When we came to the quasi-town of Datil, along a stretch of highway that has been bypassed, we took the side road. A sad sight it was: probably not more than a couple dozen houses altogether and most of them in a derelict state or uninhabited/uninhabitable.

At least the roadsides are kept clear by a small herd of sheep. . .

From Wikipedia, I learned this about Datil: “The town lay along the Magdalena Stock Driveway. The driveway, which had wells spaced every ten miles along its length, was used by ranchers during the late 19th to mid-20th century as they drove cattle from Springerville, Arizona to the railroad at Magdalena. The Bureau of Land Management maintains a campsite, Datil Well Campground, at the location of one of the former wells." The things one learns along the way!

Pie Town! . . .

That place of great renown, at least among lovers of unique eateries, beckoned as our first real stop in New Mexico. Of course I had heard all about the place and its origin (a story that leaves me shaking my head with a bit of disbelief) and was anxious to experience it.

Seems there are four or so pie places at that wide spot in the road. They tend to take turns being open for business and some of them offer food other than pie, at least to some extent. We drove through town (now that's truly a quasi-town) and turned around to try out the only place open. Wow! We ordered green chili chicken enchiladas to share, followed by a five-inch coconut buttermilk pie. Folks, I am here to tell you it would be worth a four-hour drive there and a four-hour drive back home for that food! And . . . it was fun to let Chris beat me at a game of checkers while we waited. Maybe I should have tried the deck of cards that were on the table instead - he really can be so annoying.

Genealogically speaking (when is ancestry not on my mind?!) my mother was born a Catron, which is the same name as the county in which Pie Town lies.

The Very Large Array . . .

Some long years ago, we had driven past the Very Large Array, a fascinating sight out on the Plains of San Augustin. This time, despite the waning of the day, we whipped a quick turnoff to find our way to a visitors center and a self-guided walking tour.

To put it in my terms, that installation of humongous radio telescopes is listening to the universe, and astronomers are interpreting the signals to tell them something or other. My scientific side (there doesn't seem to be one) says they are making it all up, but I dare not utter that out loud lest the señor begin to explain it all to me once again.