A Slideshow of Scenery

 

8-7

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I zipped open my tent flaps this morning to be greeted by a fantastic day, clear and warm and blue, the sun’s rays lancing through the ponderosas to warm the needle-strewn ground. A perfect day for lazing about. So I did, burying myself in a book while water for tea and oatmeal heated on the grill.

Perhaps I buried myself a little too long, considering that I had a six-and-a-half-hour drive ahead of me. But that’s nothing to us, these days. Jane and I, we’re born to run.

Nevertheless, I eventually did load all my gear back into Jane so we could get a move on to the next destination: Chiricahua National Monument! Another Arizonan park, but one in the very far southeastern corner – and one that I’ve missed up until now, since I usually head west via the northern Albuquerque route rather than the El Paso route.

Jane rumbled to life and I promptly remembered that I had almost no gas. No worries, I was headed back south through Flagstaff so I’d just get some gas there. And so, we set out into the sunshine.

A few miles up the road, I passed a gas station, but it was on the left, so I continued on.

Another mile or so up the road, I passed another gas station, again on the left, so I continued on.

Well, about a block after that, Jane’s motor very abruptly stuttered, fizzled, and cut out, leaving me to frantically hew over towards the shoulder. It roared back to life abruptly, stuttered some more, and then finally hit its stride and burbled on like normal (with, of course, that same tick that it’s had for half of the trip, now louder than ever).

I saw another gas station ahead on the left. I turned into it as fast as I could, this time. No more left-turn snobbery from this gal.

I put a solid 14 gallons of gas into the car – the tank only having a capacity of 16 gallons – and then pulled over to the side to pop the hood and give her a good once-over. Could this sudden failure be gas-related? Maybe. Or maybe it’s a failing ignition coil, or something’s loosened up, or the tick is not as innocuous as I had supposed, or the entire engine is about to explode. I tend to spiral like this, with these kinds of symptoms.

A few minutes later I had the valve covers off, checking for anything suspect. No dice. The valve covers went back on, and I went through the ignition system. No dice again. In fact, all seemed well under the hood. Ultimately I tightened the hell out of the headers (which were quite loose, as I had forgotten to re-tighten them after the gasket replacement two days ago), closed the hood, and gave Jane a good heart-to-heart.

I had planned on taking a rural route through the Arizonan mountains to Chiricahua, which would keep me out of the searing summer heat wave that was slated to roll over the state later in the day. But suddenly, that rural route didn’t seem like such a good idea. With no idea what’s wrong with the car – if there’s anything wrong with the car – it’s always best to stick to routes where towns with parts stores can be found. So, begrudgingly, I changed my route to a much more awful one: the Phoenix route.

The Phoenix route is awful for quite a few reasons, actually, but there were two I was really concerned about: 1, the forecasted high temperature of 118*F for the afternoon, and 2, the massive amount of traffic one usually encounters in town. I’ve sat in Phoenix traffic before when it was 110*F out, and I really had no intention of doing so again. But sometimes, you gotta do what you gotta do. It would be a good stress test for Jane, at least, and I have people in Phoenix to rely on if things went south.

So off we went, descending from Flagstaff’s friendly climate into the pit of hell. Every time I think of Phoenix in summer, I am reminded of a quote from King of the Hill: “Oh my god! It’s like standing on the sun! This city should not exist. It is a monument to man’s arrogance.” I really couldn’t agree more.

The Descent

But on the way, a nice hill of saguaros

The day was sweltering, the city’s smog doing nothing to diminish the effects of the sun. Instead, it turned into a kind of one-two punch, the sun’s rays boring down to the earth with remarkable intensity and the smog holding in every last bit of heat, smothering the city in an ovenlike embrace. I could do without those two punches, thank you very much.

My arms prickled with sweat as I drew all appendages back inside the vehicle, the breeze through the window no longer being the cooling friendly type. My sweat soon vanished despite my best attempts to hydrate, wicked away by the very air itself. A square of sunlight draped across one leg and commenced roasting it until I shuffled my bandana around to cover the patch, and I counted my blessings that I was mostly sitting in Jane’s shade. It felt much like I’d imagine the inside of a convection oven to be.

Ahh, summer in Phoenix.

Fortunately, the dreaded traffic I had been anticipating never materialized, and I skated through town with only a moderate amount of roasting and a survivable case of dehydration. Count me lucky. Even luckier, Jane was once again back to running in her prime, the morning’s drama forgotten. Probably, it had just been the result of running bad gas too low in the tank – usually I try to fill up every half tank, as gas stations in rural places can have a pretty substantial water cut that makes for poor running. But it's always better to be safe than sorry when it comes to Jane and her opinions.

With Jane happy once more, I opted to turn off at Highway 60 to head east through a more scenic route. I had some considering to do, and considering is always best done on a nice road instead of a crappy crowded interstate.

My plan for the next two days had been to camp out at Chiricahua, hike around, see some sights, and then move on back towards Austin. But having just gotten a taste of that heat wave – and being very tired from the compounded effects of this trip’s demanding driving on top of a couple weeks of travel prior to that – I was not feeling too excited about going there. In fact, I was feeling much more excited about adding the park into my NEXT road trip, which I’ve already decided will be an extended loop around Arizona in the fall of 2024. Better weather, good stopping point on the way over, I came up with a lot of reasons to skip it in favor of going next year.

Well, that idea took root in my head and refused to leave, so even with the improved scenery, I decided that I would cut Chiricahua from this year’s trip. So instead, I settled back for a long drive towards New Mexico. Jane hummed along unconcernedly, apparently content with my decision as long as we had somewhere to go.

We wound our way towards the Superstition Mountains – a range I plan on visiting next year – glorying in the smooth blacktop, the saguaros, the rocky cliffs, and the reappearance of clouds, even if the temperatures did still leave something to be desired.

The road narrowed, twisting between rocky spires that looked much like fingers stretching to the sky, then plowing onwards through boulder fields and eventually into a canyon. A massive tailings pile rose into view, stacked so high that it towered above the canyon, a vast manmade mountain dedicated to the pursuit of copper.

Tailings pile in the background

Tailings "mountain" up close

We passed the ugly – but admittedly awe-inspiring – thing and wound our way out of the canyon and into a more peaceful, pastoral scene. Pastureland stretched out into low foothills, which rose into humble mountains crowned by clouds that echoed their shape. We passed farm after farm, each with their own agrarian specialty.

Stormclouds gathered in the distance, a large diffuse block spanning the entire sky. I was glad for the relief from the sun, but not enthused about driving through the usual awful summer afternoon monsoons. The wind whipped up, throwing dust into the air and veiling the landscape in a hazy brown cloud.

Difficult to tell where the dust ends and cloud begins

The first droplets of rain skittered across Jane’s hood, and we braced for the usual downpour. But then… it just never came. A dusting of droplets, not even enough to raise the asphalt’s tarry scent to the surface. We lucked out this time, considering the look of the storm.

The afternoon stretched on and we cruised through the unendingly beautiful landscape of first southeastern Arizona, and then southwestern New Mexico. It was a good day to run.

Eventually, we pulled into the dusty small town of Deming, New Mexico, notable only for being the only stopping point between Lordsburg and Las Cruces, each town more than 50 miles away. But hey, it had cheap hotels, and that seemed good enough to me. After checking Jane over to make sure that she really was still running flawlessly after the morning’s incident (she was), I wandered over to the local restaurant for some enchiladas. And on the way back I saw something that put Deming on the map for me: the biggest, brightest, most spectacular rainbow I’ve ever seen, arcing across the sky in defiance of – or perhaps because of – the dust that swirled over the town.

I only wish that I had been outside of town to see that – imagine the majesty of a rainbow like that sweeping across the plains and the distant mountains. Well, I can see it in my mind, anyways.

It occurred to me that today, in my mad flight towards home, I had the pleasure of experiencing almost every scene that the American Southwest has to offer. From the forested remnants of volcanos, to saguaro-strewn hills, to scrubby desertland, to bare desolate mountains, to canyons lined by rocky spires, all bleeding together into a flickering slideshow of landscapes scrolling over Jane’s hood. We saw the human side of it, too, the mines and the pastures and the fields, the blisteringly hot urban city and the isolated towns clinging to a sparse existence surrounded by miles and miles of wilderness.  It’s certainly been a unique day of scenery. It has me very excited to visit for a longer, more leisurely trip next year!

Occupied with those thoughts, I bunked down for the night and prepared for another long day of driving tomorrow. Boy, I sure wish I could teleport sometimes. But I guess then I would miss moments like these, places like these, and that would be very sad.

Kelly signing out.

 

Those Who Came Before

 8-6 

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I woke to the start of another hot day – it seems we’ve arrived back at the standard August climate, for better or worse. After a couple of eggs at a local Mom and Pop diner, Jane and I hit the road.

Instead of another long slog, I had planned for a short drive followed by a leisurely afternoon in Flagstaff visiting the region’s other two national monuments. It’s not fair to visit just the one (Walnut Canyon) without the others, you know. Especially considering that the three are interrelated in such an interesting way – through the stories and lives of the ancient peoples who once called this place home.

We hopped on I-40 eagerly, my eyes glued to the horizon in search of the distant mountain rising out of the plateau that would signal our approach to Flagstaff.

Instead, I saw endless meadows of chollas.

The three-hour drive seemed positively short in light of the long driving days I’ve gotten used to pulling, and we arrived at the foot of that wonderful mountain in what seemed like mere moments. A short climb later and we were amongst the Ponderosa Pines, their intoxicating vanilla-pine scent drifting through my open window on that eternal cool Flagstaff breeze.

I turned north towards our destination, planning on grabbing gas on the way out of town. But alas, the last gas station came sooner than expected, and I missed it. Apparently.

I found myself viewing Sunset Crater far faster than expected, before I even hit the entrance booth! I guess that’s to be expected when you’re looking for a volcano, which is admittedly much taller than all of the trees and other landmarks in the area.

We approached the entrance booth, where I asked, with one eye on the uncomfortably low gas gauge, how many miles one could expect to drive while seeing the park. The attendant helpfully informed me that both of the parks – Sunset Crater and Wupatki – could be seen in one big 50-mile loop. I decided I’d risk it, because who doesn’t like to roll the dice unnecessarily now and then.

First stop in the loop was the visitor center, just past the entrance booth and campground. There, a ranger oriented me on the available trails in the park. None of the trails were especially long in the first place, so I knew I’d have no problem seeing at least one whole park in an afternoon. But the ranger also informed me that a fair number of trails were still closed after being impacted by last year’s Tunnel Wildfire, which meant I’d be able to see all of both parks in one afternoon! Yay, kind of.

That is a damn good looking car.

This guy thought so too

A quick turn around the VC gave me the basics of what makes Sunset Crater so unique. It’s one of the youngest in the States, a cinder cone that abruptly “grew” around 1085 AD. I say “grew” because these things often start fairly small, but over time they pile cinders, ash, and volcanic blocks around their margins as they erupt, effectively growing taller and taller until they run out of steam (well, more accurately, available magma).

That in itself makes Sunset Crater a notable point of interest. But what cements it as a noteworthy cultural and natural landmark is the fact that it erupted so recently that it impacted early human cultures living in the area. Researchers have spent decades uncovering the story of this volcano’s eruption and its impact on local peoples. Apparently, it gave enough warning that people living in the area were able to evacuate, leaving their homesteads to be buried in ash and lava flows while they watched from afar.

But far from abandoning the area as one might expect, they returned after the volcano had ceased belching fire and rock. And then, they learned to farm in the thick blanket of cinders that now coated their land. It turns out that the cinders are actually good for a lot – in addition to containing a lot of vital nutrients, they make a good porous groundcover to help protect crops from drying out or baking in the sun. Counterintuitive, but a very cool concept!

Jane and I scooted along to the Lava Flow trailhead so I could see this not-so-deadly volcano for myself. At one point, this volcano was probably a very tall, very impressive cone. But now, nearly a thousand years later, it’s weathered down into a rather unimpressive but admittedly unusual-looking black hill composed of fragments of odd holey rocks. Hmm.

Although, it does look better with Jane in front of it!

I packed up my stuff – feeling compelled to do so despite knowing that the full trail loop is less than a mile in length – and set out to see some more interesting rocks. Even though the volcano itself isn’t too impressive, the rocks at its base certainly make up for it. The remnants of lava flows emerge from the cinders, their twisted forms rising tortuously towards the sky. Many are full of holes, evidence of the expulsion of trapped gasses as they cooled over the land. Others appear as viscous sludge, forced through gaps in rocky barriers and extruded into odd shapes.

An odd-looking rock formation, created when lava oozed upwards through a crack between cooled rocks.

An outcrop composed of ash and pyroclastic debris

A fossilized lava flow!

As I walked through the shifting cinders, I considered what a cataclysmic and life-changing event this must have been, for so many people. Connected only by the tenuous threads of common trading routes as they were, imagine how word would have spread amongst the scattered communities of the Southwest. Would there have been residents in Walnut Canyon then? They would have undoubtedly heard the explosion, looked out on ash falling from the sky for days if not longer. But for those further out, would they have seen the ash and wondered? Would their connections have gone dark for a while, immersed in the effort of solving the problem of the abrupt formation of a new and very angry mountain in the middle of their lands? As connected as we are in today’s world, it is easy for us to hear about disasters across the globe. It’s almost unfathomable to think of a world in which you might not even know a volcano had erupted nearby.

Clearly, in the story of these people, resiliency dominated over fear. They made their peace with the mountain and moved back into its shadow. But restarting their lives in the wake of such a disaster cannot have been easy. I surveyed the landscape, which is currently scarred by the effects of the Tunnel Wildfire. Although there are still many trees intact, it’s easy to look at the scorched stumps and blasted brush and envision oneself looking out over a similar landscape a thousand years ago. This is not a hospitable land, at least at first glance.

I liked how twisty this tree is

This land has seen a similar scene before - and now, nearly a thousand years later, it looks much the same. Volcanic rubble and blasted burned landscape.

I found it very unusual how these pine trees were so broadly spaced on this otherwise barren slope of volcanic ash.

I completed the trail in short order, concluding it with one last sweeping overview of the crater (and Jane).

Jane for scale.

Damn, that is just a great looking car. Some days I just think about this a lot, as is evident from today's pictures.

And with that, we had completed the trails available to hike at Sunset Crater! Kind of underwhelming with respect to length and difficulty, but certainly a great one to see cool rocks and to immerse oneself in imaginations of past lives.

Jane and I hopped back onto the loop, heading counterclockwise towards Wupatki. Once again we descended from the forested terranes of Flagstaff into the surrounding colorful flatlands of the Colorado Plateau.

I spy red rocks!

As we reached the base of the foothills, the visitor center came into view, and of course I stopped to have a walk around. This one focused on telling the story of the people who lived in the pueblos overlooking the plateau. In particular, they focused on Wupatki Pueblo, a spectacular multi-story structure with over 100 rooms. Although the site has proof of habitation extending over 13,000 years, it peaked in the early 1100’s when the Wupatki Pueblo and surrounding region was inhabited by over 2,000 people. That’s quite a sizeable settlement for that time period! Some of these people were undoubtedly refugees from Sunset Crater; others moved in to take advantage of the newly fertile soil derived from the ashes of Sunset Crater’s eruption. The massive population influx and rise of agriculture turned Wupatki Pueblo into a bustling trade hub, a waypoint for many other migrating tribes where people could gather and share news and innovations. Consequently, archaeologists working the site find a wide array of materials and craftwork artifacts which can be attributed to various far-reaching tribes that were otherwise disconnected.

By the mid 1200’s, Wupatki Pueblo had been abandoned entirely due to changing cultures and an extended period of drought. It has remained abandoned since then, at least until it was temporarily inhabited by one of the earliest rangers of the park! (and I have to say that I’m very jealous that someone got to live in the pueblo like that, even if it was probably bad for it from a preservation standpoint). It’s easy to think that this was a site that came and gone in a blink of an eye. But really if you consider the dates, one begins to realize that this pueblo was inhabited continuously for over a century. The stories these stones could tell.

I stepped out of the visitor center and first encountered a very sad garden, which presumably was intended to show the beneficial effects of cinders in agriculture. Unfortunately, this year’s extended, extreme drought had completely blasted the crops (or someone had forgotten to water them at all!). But, I suspect that this was kind of par for the course for this area, sometimes. We’re not in Kansas, after all.

But this is an especially sad scene in a kind of funny way

Following the trail around, I encountered a much more spectacular view: the remarkable remains of Wupatki Pueblo.

What an incredible view this place has.

The pueblo consists of a large main building with over a hundred rooms, plus another few outbuildings and a large circular court. The court was thought to be a ball court, although it likely also served as a gathering place for people. From afar, these things all looked like pretty standard-sized buildings. But as I moved closer, the sheer scale of the settlement really sank in.

Three or even four floors! Amazing.

Surprisingly, a number of rooms in the pueblo were open to visitors to view, an opportunity that I gladly took. It became clear to me that the people who built the pueblo picked the site based on the presence of a massive fantastic sandstone outcrop, which served as foundation, floor, walls, and occasionally even the roof. Why build four walls, when you can build three and lean them against a massive rock for a fourth wall with 100% stability? That’s just smart thinking!

This is not to say that anything about this building is “lazy”. Far from it. The masonry, which looks very similar to that which we might use on our houses today, is still in incredible condition after nearly a thousand years. Not only is it flat and tight, but it butts up to the natural sandstone outcrops seamlessly. Incredible work.

From the interior of the pueblo, you can see how straight walls intersected the irregular margins of the large sandstone block to use it for stability.

An outside wall, also anchored to the other end of the sandstone block in a very pleasing way.

An ancient viga (roof beam), still in place.

I explored for a while, imagining what it would have been like to live here. For someone in the 1100’s, it must have been like living in a big city, albeit one with an incredible view in all directions. Perhaps most days would be filled with farming, but many would be filled with excitement as someone sighted an incoming trade party on the horizon. Maybe that party would arrive bringing news of a volcanic eruption, or a great new game, or a new political agreement between tribes. Or maybe they would come bearing exotic seashell necklaces from the Atlantic or strange new pottery from the north or beaded garments from the south. Far from a boring life, I’d bet.

As the sun dipped towards the horizon, I headed back to Jane to continue around the loop to the next ruin.

I had to wait for the spectators to leave first.

My next stop was Wukoki Pueblo, another large settlement. This spectacular building, although not as big as Wupatki Pueblo, is most notable for its imposing presence. Built atop a large sandstone pedestal, it features a three-story tower and a number of well-crafted rooms with very impressive architecture. If there was ever a Native American mansion… this would be it.

The pueblo nearly fills the pedestal, with a small patio-like area left clear on the left side (presumably for watching the awesome sunsets)

An amazing statement tower

Rising from the sandstone pedestal seamlessly

Windows with nice slabbed headers. The regularly spaced holes below that are all that remains of the floor structure.

A door with great craftsmanship, edges substantially worn by the passage of time and touches of thousands of hands.

A nice little keyhole window for light with an exceptional view of the endless plateau.

As impressed as I was, the sinking sun pushed us onwards, so we pushed on to the remaining two pueblos.

But first, I had to look at my car again. This is always the time of day when Jane really shines.

We reached Nalakihu Pueblo – overlooked by Citadel Pueblo - right at the Golden Hour, a perfect time for experiencing the still beauty of the land.

I hiked up to the top of the Citadel, which is perched at the top of a hill in the middle of a flat grassland. Unfortunately, it is poorly preserved, partly because it’s located in such an exposed area. But it is cool to think of what might have been. From this vantage point, one can see for miles and miles – maybe in the 1100’s, this would have been miles of fields, dotted with other small pueblos. Or maybe it was still a grassland then, used for grazing farm animals. Whatever the landscape looked like at the time, I know that that view was just as spectacular then as it is now. What a gift, to experience sunsets every day in a place like this.

I like how this one incorporates volcanic cobbles from Sunset Crater - note that that was not the case for earlier pueblos! This tells us about when the different pueblos were built relative to the eruption. Or maybe it was just their aesthetic.

Jane in her natural habitat.

As the golden tones began to wane and shadows crept over the grasslands, I approached my final stop for the day: the Lomaki and Box Canyon Pueblos. Located on the rims of small canyons that bisect the plains, the pueblos look much like watchtowers, sentinels guarding the lowlands.

Hello, World.

It’s not hard to figure out why these were placed here. In a broad flat grassland, how does one keep ones livestock wrangled? It’s not like there’s abundant trees around for making fences. But a box canyon – a canyon with only one entrance – is a perfect place to keep your animals. The “watchtowers” at the entrance to the canyon were likely exactly that – not just residences, but places where people could keep an eye out for possible hostiles while also making sure their livestock stayed in the canyon. Maybe not as spectacular of a view as that from Citadel Pueblo, or as fancy of a house as that at Wukoki Pueblo, but I bet this was a lot more convenient.

I headed back to Jane and we hustled onwards around the loop, heading back towards Flagstaff. Very suspiciously volcanic-looking terrain – now manifesting as innocuous low rounded hills – rose out of the plains, then eventually gave way to Flagstaff’s familiar mountains.

We climbed in elevation some more, until the turnoff for Fire Road 545 came back into view. We made our way into Sunset Crater for the second time today, turning into the campground just before sunset with the usual perfect timing. We were surely very low on gas, but Jane had miraculously been sipping fuel all day so we came out a bit better than expected. Whatever the fuel level, it became a problem for tomorrow, as I found a very inviting campsite and set my gear up in short order. I was just glad to finally be able to pull out my tent, my old friend - one that has been certainly neglected so far this trip. It's good to be back outdoors and on the "slow" side of the trip, where I can take the time to really immerse myself in where I am.

I watched the sun set over my beautiful, fantastic car, parked in that beautiful, fantastic scenery, and counted my blessings. There’s nowhere I’d rather be than here. Sitting by my campfire, the usual Boy Scout hamburger meal sizzling on the grill nearby, I reveled in the onset of night. Fingers of clean, cool, crisp mountain air battled with the smoky heat of the flames and the whispers of hot rendering fat from the grill in a swirling tumble, while the Ponderosas all around me rattled with a rising breeze. This land is steeped in history, and as the day begins to fold and the world draws close, you can feel it rise from the ground, a breath of wind of its own. What has this land seen of the evolution of human history, I wonder. What was it like, in the time of Those Who Came Before?

Kelly signing out.

**Side note from the author: My greatest apologies for the delay in these posts - an abundance of scientific and creative projects this fall really sapped my creative writing skills! But, I will finish the posts out as always, never fear.**