I didn’t even leave for the White Mountains until 10:20pm,afterfinding excuses to delay my departure: checking on the kittens, watching the news, watering the garden, and then sitting back and watching the nightly news and then a Friday night Dateline NBC about the senseless murder of a young mother in North Port, FL.
I made it to Willcox at 11:40pm,worried that the price of regular unleaded would be much higher after the Merchantile Exchange closed a barrel of crude at $138.25 with more increases due next week. “Sticker price shock Monday morning” said the news announcers.
But at Doc’s Foodstore in Willcox the price was still $3.56, which makes me wonder how the owner can continue selling gas at that “low price” when Texaco across the street sells for $3.89.
I made it to Safford at 12:40, stopped at the Taco Bell which was already closed (which makes me wonder how the nightlife in town must be if even the fast-food places close so early). I ordered a cheeseburger at the Sonic next door instead.
The mountains around me were invisible in the waning new moon. I made it to Clifton at 1:30am, stopped in a motel parking lot and slept on my back seat for the night, expecting to sleep just a few hours and instead sleeping until6am when I promptly got up and continued my drive. Alpine from Morenci was still 90 miles away;’ I figured I would be there by 8am. No problem. I gassed in town for $3.77 and headed north.
The red mountains just north of Morenci were still shadowed by the rising sun. Cows were grazing right off the road, looking surprised that I was coming through so early and interrupting their grazing. ”What are you doing here?” they seem to say to me as I drove by.
The first fifteen miles of Hwy 191 north of Morenci are the most curvy of the entire road. I was barely driving 30mph.But once on the crest I could drive fast, and at times I drove 50pmh as I enjoyed the eastern valley views. What I thought was valley fog at first turned out to be valley haze from what smelled like a lingering wildfire.
I made it to Alpine by 7:30am and gassed at the Mustang gas station where I also bought coffee, yesterday’s local newspaper, a bag of ice and a box of doughnuts. I confidently continued onto Big Lake, 17 miles west of Alpine on FR249.
Finding everyone else in the camping group was not as easy as I thought, though. The hike leader Steve had no idea where exactly they were going to camp and could only suggest Grayling with Rainbow as the alternative. Neither camp was posted though and I ended up driving around the recreation area and making an entire loop before I figured it out the second time. Stopping at the tackle shop, where boaters and fishermen were already eagerly launching their boats for a day’s worth of fishing The clerk behindthe front counter showed me where to go, and once I had a pin point, found Brenda, Gordon, Susan and Steve rather quickly. Fifteen minutes later everyone drove off to the day’s trailhead for the Thompson Trail, an old railroad path now used for hikers and bikers. It’s almost 20 miles west of the campsite, and Ionly drove there to get an idea of where it was. My priority now was finding Kevin and his campsite. He had called me to let me know he stayed elsewhere, away from the screaming kids, blaring generators and barking dogs.
I was a little confused as to where he was because I had misunderstood his voice mail he had left behind Friday morning. He was not 12.3 north of Alpine like I had thought, but instead 12.3infromFR249,making him only five miles from where everyone else wascamped. I had to drive all the way to Hwy 191 to get cellphone reception, replay the voicemessage, then realizing my gaffe before I turned around, retraced my drive and found himat11:30on a shady hilltop with two happy dogs excited to see me. He was sitting in his camp chair drinking his third Bud Lite.
“I was expecting you last night” he said, “and when you didn’t show up I decided to stay until 10amthis morning, hoping you had stayed at Hannagan Meadow last night.
I was hungry and tired from lack of sleep, and even more tired from the driving around earlier. I was just glad we managed to find each other after all, and we spent a quiet afternoon together. The spot Kevin found was indeed nice, with a view of Three Forks Valley below, behind charred stumps of burned Ponderosa. I gladly took a cup of coffee he had made, and we shared the doughnuts.
I was in no mood to drive back to the Thompson Trail, adding another 40 miles on my van. I was happy to simply hike an old Forest Trail near the campsite, with the dogs off-leash and unhampered by other dogs, kids or blaring cars.
The trail passed a wide green meadow that had fresh traces of elk scat. Water meandered down from a small cienega. Recent storms had toppled many sick and dying trees that were now lying on the forest floor. Ravens flew overhead, squirrels darted around us (prompting the dogs to take chase).
The forest road came to a dead end on the hilltop, providing us breathtaking views of the Three Forks creek below. This was beautiful, remote wilderness yet we were in sight of the main road leading to the recreation area. No one was near us and the dogs enjoyed their walk unimpeded.
We arrived back at the campsite at 3:10pm. We were both tired and rested in our chairs reading our books we had the foresight to pack for those quiet times. Kevin got comfortable with his short stories by James, who writes about fishing, hunting and ranching with a humourous twist.
I read “Arizona, No Ordinary Journey” by Mary JoChurchwell,a63-year-old solo traveler who had planned a trip around Arizona for two years and then took seven months in 2004 to drive it in her Saturn sedan. She wrote chapters on many places I already am familiar with: Patagonia, the San Pedro River, Tombstone (which she didn’t care much for), Bisbee, Douglas, the Chiricahuas, Safford and even two weeks in Alpine and Hannagan Meadow. But sadly she wrote more about the place histories than her own experiences travelling across this beautiful state, and very few encounters with other people get mentioned.
At 6pmweleft to join the rest of the gang at the campsite, to let everyone know I had found Kevin. We stayed at the group site until 9pm, for that is how long a visitor’s pass is valid for. We talked to Bill who was relaxing to Scotch, and to others as well.
A camper across from Susan and Pete had his generator running until 9pm,and then everyone around us clapped when he turned it off. The entire site was covered now in a peaceful silence, and that’s when I realized how loud the generator was the entire time.
When we got to our own site at 9:30pm, I appreciated the silence around me. I was exhausted, crawled into my sleeping bag with all my clothes on (and expecting to take some of the layers off once I had warmed up).
I made it to Willcox at 11:40pm,worried that the price of regular unleaded would be much higher after the Merchantile Exchange closed a barrel of crude at $138.25 with more increases due next week. “Sticker price shock Monday morning” said the news announcers.
But at Doc’s Foodstore in Willcox the price was still $3.56, which makes me wonder how the owner can continue selling gas at that “low price” when Texaco across the street sells for $3.89.
I made it to Safford at 12:40, stopped at the Taco Bell which was already closed (which makes me wonder how the nightlife in town must be if even the fast-food places close so early). I ordered a cheeseburger at the Sonic next door instead.
The mountains around me were invisible in the waning new moon. I made it to Clifton at 1:30am, stopped in a motel parking lot and slept on my back seat for the night, expecting to sleep just a few hours and instead sleeping until6am when I promptly got up and continued my drive. Alpine from Morenci was still 90 miles away;’ I figured I would be there by 8am. No problem. I gassed in town for $3.77 and headed north.
The red mountains just north of Morenci were still shadowed by the rising sun. Cows were grazing right off the road, looking surprised that I was coming through so early and interrupting their grazing. ”What are you doing here?” they seem to say to me as I drove by.
The first fifteen miles of Hwy 191 north of Morenci are the most curvy of the entire road. I was barely driving 30mph.But once on the crest I could drive fast, and at times I drove 50pmh as I enjoyed the eastern valley views. What I thought was valley fog at first turned out to be valley haze from what smelled like a lingering wildfire.
I made it to Alpine by 7:30am and gassed at the Mustang gas station where I also bought coffee, yesterday’s local newspaper, a bag of ice and a box of doughnuts. I confidently continued onto Big Lake, 17 miles west of Alpine on FR249.
Finding everyone else in the camping group was not as easy as I thought, though. The hike leader Steve had no idea where exactly they were going to camp and could only suggest Grayling with Rainbow as the alternative. Neither camp was posted though and I ended up driving around the recreation area and making an entire loop before I figured it out the second time. Stopping at the tackle shop, where boaters and fishermen were already eagerly launching their boats for a day’s worth of fishing The clerk behindthe front counter showed me where to go, and once I had a pin point, found Brenda, Gordon, Susan and Steve rather quickly. Fifteen minutes later everyone drove off to the day’s trailhead for the Thompson Trail, an old railroad path now used for hikers and bikers. It’s almost 20 miles west of the campsite, and Ionly drove there to get an idea of where it was. My priority now was finding Kevin and his campsite. He had called me to let me know he stayed elsewhere, away from the screaming kids, blaring generators and barking dogs.
I was a little confused as to where he was because I had misunderstood his voice mail he had left behind Friday morning. He was not 12.3 north of Alpine like I had thought, but instead 12.3infromFR249,making him only five miles from where everyone else wascamped. I had to drive all the way to Hwy 191 to get cellphone reception, replay the voicemessage, then realizing my gaffe before I turned around, retraced my drive and found himat11:30on a shady hilltop with two happy dogs excited to see me. He was sitting in his camp chair drinking his third Bud Lite.
“I was expecting you last night” he said, “and when you didn’t show up I decided to stay until 10amthis morning, hoping you had stayed at Hannagan Meadow last night.
I was hungry and tired from lack of sleep, and even more tired from the driving around earlier. I was just glad we managed to find each other after all, and we spent a quiet afternoon together. The spot Kevin found was indeed nice, with a view of Three Forks Valley below, behind charred stumps of burned Ponderosa. I gladly took a cup of coffee he had made, and we shared the doughnuts.
I was in no mood to drive back to the Thompson Trail, adding another 40 miles on my van. I was happy to simply hike an old Forest Trail near the campsite, with the dogs off-leash and unhampered by other dogs, kids or blaring cars.
The trail passed a wide green meadow that had fresh traces of elk scat. Water meandered down from a small cienega. Recent storms had toppled many sick and dying trees that were now lying on the forest floor. Ravens flew overhead, squirrels darted around us (prompting the dogs to take chase).
The forest road came to a dead end on the hilltop, providing us breathtaking views of the Three Forks creek below. This was beautiful, remote wilderness yet we were in sight of the main road leading to the recreation area. No one was near us and the dogs enjoyed their walk unimpeded.
We arrived back at the campsite at 3:10pm. We were both tired and rested in our chairs reading our books we had the foresight to pack for those quiet times. Kevin got comfortable with his short stories by James, who writes about fishing, hunting and ranching with a humourous twist.
I read “Arizona, No Ordinary Journey” by Mary JoChurchwell,a63-year-old solo traveler who had planned a trip around Arizona for two years and then took seven months in 2004 to drive it in her Saturn sedan. She wrote chapters on many places I already am familiar with: Patagonia, the San Pedro River, Tombstone (which she didn’t care much for), Bisbee, Douglas, the Chiricahuas, Safford and even two weeks in Alpine and Hannagan Meadow. But sadly she wrote more about the place histories than her own experiences travelling across this beautiful state, and very few encounters with other people get mentioned.
At 6pmweleft to join the rest of the gang at the campsite, to let everyone know I had found Kevin. We stayed at the group site until 9pm, for that is how long a visitor’s pass is valid for. We talked to Bill who was relaxing to Scotch, and to others as well.
A camper across from Susan and Pete had his generator running until 9pm,and then everyone around us clapped when he turned it off. The entire site was covered now in a peaceful silence, and that’s when I realized how loud the generator was the entire time.
When we got to our own site at 9:30pm, I appreciated the silence around me. I was exhausted, crawled into my sleeping bag with all my clothes on (and expecting to take some of the layers off once I had warmed up).
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