Circling the U.S. Chapter 61: Southwestern Arizona

Friday, December 13 - Monday, December 16, 2019

After arriving in Yuma we rode to the historic part of town. We started with appetizers and beer at the Prison Hill Brewing Company.

We had the Prison Hill Sampler: beer battered fried avocado, stripped Yard Bird, Prison Hill pretzels, and sausage, all accompanied by Prison Hill BBQ sauce, sage mustard, Chipotle Ranch, and Jailbait Blonde beer cheese. It was all delicious, especially the pretzels which I thought were way better than the ones we had in Germany last year. We also had beer.

The deal with the Prison Hill name is that one of the major tourist attractions in Yuma is the Yuma Territorial Prison which opened in 1876; it sits on a hill. We saw enough historical prisons in Australia; we skipped this one.

The Yuma Art Center, just down the street, had a reception for a new show so we popped in there for free food and some pretty good art.  

I was particularly entranced by these abstract encaustic paintings by Mark Wall. Other than free food, the great thing about show openings is having the opportunity to meet the artists. Mark and his partner, who created the wood sculptures in the above photo, live summers on one of the San Juan Islands and spend their winters in Yuma. I enjoyed talking with Mark about the process of creating his artwork, which is done with layer upon layer of wax.

Saturday, December 14, we returned to Yuma's Old Town for a tour of the Sanguinetti House Museum where we learned about Yuma's history. After the Colorado River was dammed, irrigation allowed Yuma to become a major agricultural area.

We've been impressed with how much the people who live here absolutely love it. Our tour guide retired here with her husband after they tried out the Oregon coast. They hated the Oregon coast weather. Mark Wall, the artist, the artist I talked with, raved about how friendly the people are. And it's always sunny. 

We spent Saturday night about ten miles east of downtown Yuma with Warm Showers hosts Michael and Myra. They retired to Yuma 20 years ago from outside Vancouver, Washington. They love the summers when all the "Snowbirds" leave and the 120 degree heat never bothers them. They sit outside all year long.  

Michael is a retired police officer and over dinner shared many stories of his thirty years in that profession. I was struck by how much he cared about doing things by the book when other officers were more worried about getting enough arrests under their belts so they could look good. Michael would get a bunch of condoms from the local health clinic and hand them out to the kids on his beat.

When we are hosted by married couples we often get a glimpse into the window of their marriage and, in every case, the apparent love they have for one another. Michael and Myra got married in their teens, when they were expecting their first child. Michael was a high school dropout, but, he says, "Myra kicked my butt back in school." Myra went to college and Michael to the police academy. He said, "Then I was able to ride in the front of a police cruiser instead of the back."  When they decided to get married, the Catholic priest wouldn't marry them because he said their marriage wouldn't last two years. Over fifty years later with three grown children, eleven grandchildren, and eight great-grandchildren, they're still married. The respect and love they show for one another is inspiring. 

After leaving Michael and Myra we spent Sunday, December 15, bicycling to Dateland. Michael told us that the date shakes were terrible. 

While we didn't keep up with the semis, we did zip through 58 miles as easily as peeling the skin off a banana. We spent the entire day on the interstate; with a wide, smooth shoulder it did not feel at all unsafe. Rob said that the riding was exactly as he'd picture it would be: sand, sagebrush, flat. There were mountains off in the distance all around us and colorful trains all day long.

There was nothing in Dateland: a gas station, convenience store where they sold anything you could possibly imagine with dates, and pizza and ice cream joint all rolled into one. We paid for the campground at the convenience store. The sorry excuse for a campground was a quarter mile down a dirt road.  

Every campground is a new experience. The Dateland RV Park cost $12, picnic table not included. I was crestfallen. Our site was a cement slab and dirt. After Rob's cardiac event, we decided to lighten our loads and sent our chairs home. After all, Rob said, "We haven't really been using them." We sure could have used them here. But Rob, ever resourceful, went walking around the campground and borrowed a couple chairs from RVers.  

When it got dark we walked down the dirt road to the convenience store and spread out maps on the tables of the pizza joint, doing mileage calculations. We had no internet but we'd decided it was time to figure out if we could make a plan to meet our kids in San Antonio. The place was deserted but for us. When the young people who worked there began putting chairs up on the tables, we took our cue and headed out into the dark to our dreary campground.

The campground was not very busy. I can understand why. It's sandwiched between the interstate with trucks zooming by all night, and train tracks, with freight trains every hour all night long. I slept through them; Rob counted eight. And forget about enjoying the night sky. The campground had floodlights everywhere, on all night. At least the showers were hot.  

I don't know what brings people out here to live, but we figured that this was home for many of the RVers set up here. RV sites cost $150 a month. A regular kitchen oven/stove sat outside one of the RVs. It's certainly a better option than living on the streets.  

This campground wasn't completely forsaken by the gods. We witnessed a beautiful sunrise.

Rob counted no fewer than eight trains during the night. This one joined us for breakfast.

Wednesday, December 16, with a slight increase in elevation over the course of the day the miles went by more slowly. After 15 miles we stopped at a rest area for a break - we were on the interstate - then there was nothing until Gila Bend, 33 miles later. 33 miles is a long time to go without a proper rest, and we had a slight headwind to boot. Rob and I were both pretty exhausted. We stopped at a McD's as soon as we got into town to discuss our options for the night. It didn't make so much sense to camp at an expensive KOA when we could find a room for not that much more. All I wanted was a nap. The Palms Inn turned out to be a great choice, family owned, clean, with microwave, coffee maker, fridge, and hot shower.  We could prepare dinner in our room, relax, and figure out plans for meeting our kids in San Antonio at the end of January.

We saw our first saguaro cactus, off in the distance silhouetted against the mountains and sky, then a few more, just enough to tease us. They were what we'd come this way to see.

But mostly we rode through barren desert that, yes, got a little boring.