First Day Off

So, yesterday being my first day off in seven days at the ranch, I thought it would be nice to sleep in. Funny that the dogs don't agree to cooperate on that one. I dragged out my 5ish wake up time to 6 or 630 before their barking drove me nuts and I got up anyways. I had a relaxing breakfast--read: I had tea and read the news while the dogs went nuts around me--and then decided it was time to head to Jerome.

Jerome is this tiny town a mile above sea level, or, about 2000 feet above Prescott Valley’s 5026 feet. It was once a big mining town, both gold and copper, before they stripped the mines in their response to World War II needs, and everything else before that. In 1957, it was declared a “ghost town,” and, instead of dying off entirely, the remaining residents decided to take advantage of their label, and turn it into a tourist destination. Consequently, Jerome became an “artsy” town, full of pretty art galleries and gift shops, and restaurants. Thinking this a great destination to celebrate my day of freedom from the dogs, I naively set off in the 1983 Chevy Silverado, the ranch vehicle I was also informed I could use for personal use.

The road to Jerome, I89 N, is flat for about 10 miles. And then, it hits the Mingus Mountains, the start of the Prescott State and National forest. Immediately, the road begins to climb. In a mile or so, it becomes a narrow 2 lane road that winds around the mountains. It is literally chiseled into the rock, so that there are at least 8 miles of drop offs on the way—the guard rail the only barrier between you and the rocky fall-offs, so you can look ahead and see parts of the road winding around in front of you, and how much more terrifying terrain you have to cover before it goes around another crazy switchback. It probably wouldn’t have been that bad, had I not been in that stupid truck. Cars lined up behind me as I guided it, shaking (and by shaking, I’m referring to both me AND the truck, the truck probably a little more violently) around those turns.

The cars behind me kept speeding over the double lines to pass me with ease, so, I’m sure the road gets easier with use, although I couldn’t help thinking I’d much rather be driving it in a Mario Kart game, instead of in real life.

Anyways, I get there and proceed to the first tourist trap, the actual “ghost town.” It’s up where the mine used to be, where people would live so they could just start their day right up in the rocky hills, without the extra mile from Jerome. Would have been cool, if the town had provided any direct information about itself. Instead, it was just a bunch of falling down buildings, as well as gutted old cars. The thin old lady at the desk lisped to me, “there’s a lot of history there, and we have a donkey named Pedro, and some chickens you can feed.” Not bothering to tell her it was my day off from feeding animals, I went and walked around, and saw more car parts than I’d ever seen in my life, some chintzy old signs, and came back. “What are those cars from?” I asked her. “Oh, the current owner just dragged them up here. He’s been collecting for a while.”
Minus the strangeness of all the cars perched up there with no one to see them, obscuring the “ghost town” itself (the cars are in no way advertized as part of it) I couldn’t help but think of getting those cars there. “Oh yes,” the lady assured me, patting back her hair. “He drives some of those up.”
Okay. People here are weird. Insane, probably.
After the ‘ghost town,’ I wandered through some of main Jerome, going to the Mining Museum, where finally I learned a little more about the town. It had its sheriffs and its prostitutes and its miners, and apparently at one time was named by the New York Sun as being the “wickedest town in the west.” The biggest thing of note was that, in 1958, when the town decided to make its living off of tourists, it also instituted a stock car race up I89. I’m not sure why there was no more information about this, given that, according to my drive up there, racing cars on that road would make rodeos look tame. But since there wasn’t, I ventured to the gift shops.
After making my obligatory tourist purchases, I got caught in a sudden hail storm. So I took shelter in the Haunted Hamburger (a restaurant located in an old asylum, which is now a hotel) After weathering a power outage, they finally served me up my meat, I mean, lunch. Yay, a hamburger! Don’t tell Dr. Deb, but I’ve decided digestive juices will very nicely keep the meat from actually rotting in my colon. Mmmm, tasty.

I walked around a little more, but when it cleared up I decided to take the road when it was dry, and to check out the local library in Prescott Valley. Apparently, the valley isn’t huge on their books. The library is located on one floor of their small “civic center,” which clearly they spent more money to make it into some wacky glass structure than on its contents, and since I can’t get a card, it doesn’t help me much that they have one full shelf devoted to “westerns” and about 6 shelves of books total, so I can’t even ‘order’ books from nearby libraries. At least there were no dogs there…

I went outside, it being around 5:30, to go home, and turned the key to find no response. Like an idiot I’d left the lights on and the battery had died. I called Rory, who said he’d rescue me, a minute after which the looming storm hit the valley, and so we jumped the truck in a lightning storm.

So, basically, that was enough of an adventure for the week. I figure, I’ll hang out here til the dogs drive me crazy. Considering they’ve been barking all night and morning, cause of the thunder in the night, and feeding a few hours ago, I’m impressed I’ve been here so long…then again, they’ve quieted down, and I’m a bit wiped from my first run at 5000 feet elevation here, so who knows, maybe I’ll last the day.

Oh, and see my pictures at http://picasaweb.google.com/zephyr0513/20080910RanchAndRodeoAndJerome?authkey=XgvyUEtfpXM#
They'll keep updating too, as I add them