We drove south through the desert until it dipped down into a bowl of lush marshes and trees, outlining the wide, 265 acre Patagonia lake. At the east end there is a campground, tucked in beside the marina where boats and kayaks are available for rent. It was beautiful. We were told that the old New Mexico/Arizona railroad runs straight through it; I picture it deep under the water—catfish rubbing their smooth bellies against the tracks.

We found a spot near the water so Bubba could help herself to a swim whenever she pleased.

We parked next to a couple from Georgia. The man openly described himself as lazy, to the extent that it seemed he could not muster the energy to finish his words. Tomorrow was ‘tomor’, fishing pole was ‘fish po”, and so on. He talked in short, stilted sentences that caused a great deal of effort.

“Now I’m not a racist—I got a daughter-in-law who is Mexican—but thirty years ago you couldn’t leave your fish po’ for a second without it bein’ snatched up by some illegal.”

He said this lightheartedly, resting his hands on his perfectly round belly.  His wife stepped out to tell him the pie is in the oven—a fact that would have brought both of us to our knees—but he looked right through her, talking about his pugs, which sat next to him like furry, overweight extensions of himself.

That evening we hiked the bird watching trails around the lake, seeing everything from Snow Geese to Gadwalls to Northern Pintail, all circling and nibbling in the eight foot high reeds. The sound was unlike anything I’d ever heard—a resonating choir so thick with song it blended into one, sweet note. The creek that fed the lake was sandy, crystal clear and ice cold, offering itself to the freerange horned cattle that roamed the woods. They would appear suddenly, like ghosts, staring intently and unwaveringly until we would round the bend.

But—I’m getting ahead of myself.

Written by Mikey: Old Tucson was our next stop after we left Gilbert Ray. It is a makeshift 18th century Wild West town which looked just like the black and white westerns that played back-to-back at Grandpa Bill’s.  Over 300 movies and TV shows have been filmed here since 1939.  There were cabaret dancers in an old theater, a decommissioned coal train and several live shows throughout the day.  The highlight was a Hollywood stunt demonstration.  Three stuntmen dueled to the death (sort of) in front of packed bleachers.  They had real guns firing blanks, a thirty foot freefall, and a fireball explosion toward the end of the performance.

Unfortunately, Jayme died.

After Old Tucson, we headed south towards Ben’s friend, Kandice’s place.  Kandice and her husband, Richard, have an acre of land outside of town which is their retirement winter getaway.  They also have three full hookups for RVs scattered throughout their property.  We chatted the afternoon away and gave several thirty second tours of our Scamp to our hosts and their guests.  The next morning Kandice greeted us with fresh baked muffins.  “I’m hoping to be the best campground host on your trip!”  Wow, we are lucky.

The next day we drove further South toward the Mexican border to the Kitt’s Peak Observatory.  It was a pretty steady incline to the 7000 foot top and the temperature was a good 25 degrees cooler than Kandice’s place.  Some of the telescopes were open to the public including one tracking the sun. It was a pretty neat place.  Free, too.

 

Up next—Coronado National Forest.