Down Tucson Way

This year for Terry’s spring break, we headed out to Tucson to bask in Arizona sunshine—although the sun had to share some of that time with chill winds, ominous clouds and a few sprinkles. But that was okay. We were just thrilled to finally be back on a road trip in the van. (It has been two years!) Springtime in the Sonoran Desert, that’s what we were seeking. Nonetheless, it was sporadic showers that greeted us Monday morning as we departed home, breaking into patchy blue skies over San Gorgonio Pass, and then blustery winds all the way into Arizona as I careened into a storm front with both hands on the wheel.

First stop: Tombstone.

Nightfall in Tombstone. After checking into the Larian Hotel, we strolled down the quiet streets
on weathered boardwalks. We had dinner here in the Longhorn. It’s one of the original
downtown buildings (1878-79?) and was a lively establishment called the Bucket of Blood
Saloon back in the town's heyday. U.S. Marshal, Virgil Earp, was shot from the second floor 
in an ambush, two months after the OK Corral confrontation. 

A visit to Tombstone would not be complete without tossing back a few at the Crystal Palace Saloon, which is directly across the street from the old Bucket of Blood Saloon. The Crystal Palace was a swanky place in the 1880s, serving fresh oysters and seafood shipped in by rail from Baja California. It also carried the choicest brands of European wines and liquors and Cuban cigars. Naturally, gambling and live music were also part of the action each night, along with the occasional fracas with pistols and knives. Things have quieted down a lot since then. But like the antique sign states in the saloon's front window: “SERVING GOOD WHISKEY & TOLERABLE WATER”. I’ll drink to that.

Strong winds buffet the streets of Tombstone in the morning, kicking up dust and the occasional tumbleweed. Today, the town only has around 1,400 residents. But 125 years ago, the population was over ten times larger. This was the biggest mining operation in the Arizona Territory, extracting a massive amount of silver that would be worth over $8 billion today.    

Marshal Virgil Earp scans the street from the doorway of the Crystal Palace. Each day, actors dress to portray the Earp brothers, Doc Holliday and nefarious members of the Cowboys. It is these legendary characters who draw the tourists into town. I chewed the fat with Marshal Earp for a spell. Cool dude. 

The Earp brothers and Doc Holliday fire away during a re-enactment of the iconic, 1881 gunfight at the OK Corral. The shoot-out was at close range and lasted only 30 seconds. And when the smoke cleared, three members of the Cowboys gang, Tom and Frank McLaury, along with Billy Clanton, lay dead in a dirt lot. Virgil Earp took a bullet in the calf; Morgan Earp and Holliday were only grazed; Wyatt Earp, not a scratch. 

Frank McLaury goes down in a volley of lead. Well, not actually lead, as they’re all firing blanks—except for that little “incident” in 2015 when one of the actors forgot to change out the live ammo from his vintage Colt. He shot one of the other actors, who was then airlifted to the ER in Tucson, and another bullet ricocheted off a wall, grazing a tourist on the neck (they gave her a t-shirt that said “I survived the OK Corral Gunfight”). Hey, sometimes shit happens. 

The victims of the OK Corral shootout are interned in simple plots on Boot Hill at the edge of town, where occasional visitors still decorate their graves with flowers. Outlaws in the eyes of some, they still garnered respect and sympathy from many folks in town, especially those who despised the Yankee Republican industrialists who owned most of the mines and banks and appointed the lawmen. The funeral for Clanton and the two McLaury brothers was the largest ever attended in Tombstone.

You gotta love those Arizona sunsets. From Tombstone, we drove to Catalina State Park,
just north of Tucson in the Oro Valley, where the majestic Santa Catalina Mountains would
be our venue for the next two days.

The view of the Catalinas from our campsite was spectacular. This is Table Mountain. There are some long routes on those walls, five to six pitches long. But the approach looks heinous.

Terry is all smiles at the start of the ride up to Mount Lemmon. It’s the premier hill climb of the Southwest, starting in a desert environ of saguaros and blossoming Palo Verde trees, ending high in the mountains among towering ponderosas. This would be Ter’s acid test: her first strenuous ride—strenuous anything, for that matter—since her knee surgery last summer. Take it slow and easy, that was the goal.    

The Mt. Lemmon road is a steady grind up a 5-6 percent grade for 25 winding miles, gaining
a total of 6,000 feet in elevation. We just took it one mile at a time, finding a pace that we
could keep for the long haul. That worked out to around 6-7 mph for us. It seemed like a
good clip: a speed where we could feel a sense of accomplishment—until two riders blew by
us like we were standing still. Jeez. Young whippersnappers.    

Here’s a late-afternoon selfie of us either grimacing because our butts are sore, or smiling because this was our turn-around point. We climbed 2,800 feet before calling it a day. As for Ter’s knee: it was sore, but performed impeccably (kudos to her fitness trainer, Candace).  

Now it was time for the fun part: Streaking down the mountain! 

What took over two hours to crank up, took 24 minutes to go down. I hit 44 mph on one
stretch before having to brake hard for a hairpin curve. (Love the disc brakes on the new
Domane!) Our average speed down was close to 30 mph. It was a rush with a large dose of
incredible scenery.  

Terry makes coffee in the morning. Now it might look like I’m just loafing here, but it’s not so. (I don’t care what my wife tells you.)  No. I am planning out the day’s adventure, delving over a trail map of Catalina State Park. It’s a daunting job, planning.

Today’s hike takes us up a rugged trail into Romero Canyon, where saguaros stand tall and
regal in a desert festooned in spring bloom, the air vibrating with the hushed drone of bees
and hummingbirds.

The cactus flowers were just starting to blossom.

We lost the trail in a couple places where it crossed the creek. However, our trailblazer,
Barry the Norman, got us back on track.

The Romero Pools. Nice spot for a lunch break.

Terry descends the Romero Canyon Trail at the end of the day. The Santa Catalina
Mountains are incredibly beautiful. 

You gotta love the van life, relaxing after dinner with glasses of fine Irish whiskey, listening to the coyotes yip and howl. It felt good to be out on a road trip again. But the best part of all is that Terry’s knee appears to be completely healed, and she now has the green light to pursue all activities. Yep, I’ll drink to that, pour me another one. 

To see all the photos from this trip, click here...
https://www.flickr.com/photos/91696789@N00/albums/72157667661522772/with/26686696602/