BAKED BRAINS

Saturday, June 27 to Monday, June 29.

We swished our way NW through the light rain on US180, hung a left at SR78, and left NM for Arizona. Temperature-wise, we shoulda stayed put.  The drive up 180 was beautiful, and the descent on 78 from the high plateau was high anxiety, filled with 7-10% downgrades (hmmm, that’s a memorial there by the guardrail), switchbacks, and acrophobic wonders.   At Safford, we turned up US70 through the ridiculously green Gila Valley, which reminded me a lot of the Salinas Valley, miles of agriculture with mountains on both sides,  although these were quite a bit bigger, topped by the 10,720 ft Mt. Graham.  Our target for tonight was Apache Gold, an Indian casino with RV park, supposedly at $12 a night.  Folks, save your money.

The rv park was a big parking lot, with generous spaces but virtually no shade.  Turns out our AAA guide is last year’s, and the price is now $20.  Not wanting to drive any further, we stayed put.  We hoped to get some free player’s bucks and maybe a decent buffet dinner.  Not(x2).

We hoofed it to the casino across the blazing parking lot.  This ain’t Vegas, kids.  The casino was surprisingly small.  We went over to the “Players Club” to get our free “fun pack” that the signage had advertised.  Well, whoop-de-doo.  It consisted of a coupon good for fifty cents in slots credit, and $2.50 towards the price of a drink in the bar.  Huh?  We didn’t bother with either, and walked over to the . . . closed . . . buffet.  On a Saturday night?  I don’t think we missed much.  It was supposed to be, according to the signs, a seafood buffet, at the princely price of $23 each.  Ouch.  Back to the rig and Loni’s ever-so-much-better cooking.  This truly is a loser of a place, and not just in the gambling sense.  Ought to be called “Apache’s Revenge.”  The only saving graces were the sunset sky and the amazing sight of a couple traveling with FIVE, countem FIVE, toy poodles.  A traveling kennel?  Loni was particularly taken by the woman wiping each dog’s rear end before allowing them back into the rig.  Yuch.

Sunday we hooked up with our old friend, US60, and headed down into the Phoenix area.  Actually, we stopped for the night in Mesa, as Phoenix itself doesn’t seem to have any RV parks other than 20-30 miles up in the local mountains, and those didn’t have electricity.  Did I say it was getting hot?

Well, how about setting records?  When we stepped out of the rig after getting parked we nearly passed out.  Turns out it was 111 degrees!  Yikes.  Got the A/C going, determined that the advertised cable tv didn’t exist, and found that the “free” wifi wouldn’t allow us to sign on.  Oh, well, they DID have a very nice big pool, with no one at all in it or around it.  We had it to ourselves for about an hour before anyone else showed up.  This place actually is a retirement village composed of about 1,000 8x30 mobile homes, arranged in a grid pattern with virtually no landscaping.  This is so dreary that it has probably hastened more than one demise of the poor old souls who end up here.  The rv rentals like ourselves are put on the concrete pads of vacant slots that lack a mobile home.  You can imagine the “view.”  You’ll have to, cause I didn’t take any pics here.  We soaked in the pool until we were prunes, then went back to the “cool” rig, which was down to the mid-80’s inside.  By comparison with outside, it was very nice.

We thought we might stay an extra day, to go see some sights in Phoenix, but the thought of trying to navigate the scoot around, with helmets on, in 110+ heat, put the squelch on that.  We decided to head for the border, and back to the state park we had started this trip at, Buckskin Mountain State Park.  The drive there (the first part on I-10) was uneventful, and largely boring except for the 80mph trucks that kept overtaking us like we were standing still.  There was hardly anyone at the park.  Guess the heat (about 105) was discouraging them.  We lucked into the primo shaded spot, so at least all we had to deal with was the ambient temperature.  We discovered the first and only other Lazy Daze of our trip several sites down from us, a grey 26 footer.  We knocked to say hello, but I think we woke the elderly owner up.  He was polite but a bit dazed, so it was a short conversation.  Time for a dip in the river, which is surprisingly clear.  We marked the end of our trip with a great steak dinner, the last of our beer, and cleaned up the remaining Haagen Daz coffee yoghurt.  All was right with the world.