Binary

The motel at which I stayed in Globe was called the Nights Inn, or the Knights Inn (neither usage employing an apostrophe), depending on whether you were consulting the illuminated sign outside or the paperwork that you signed. I’m reminded that the Moody Blues’ 1967 hit has a similar ambiguity, showing up in some places as “Knights in White Satin,” perhaps in order to deny the carnal implications of the real title.

But the thing that struck me about the (K)nights Inn was the binary nature of its accoutrements. Take the room heater. It has only two states: blasting out air that’s hot enough to strip paint, or off. There is no middle ground. So, throughout the night, the heater cycled noisily between these two states, unwilling to simply provide a steady stream of warm air. This morning, the shower was revealed to be similarly designed, its hair-trigger knob releasing a cascade of water that’s either scalding or frigid, depending on where along a one-degree arc you point handle. The force of the water itself was enough to flay one’s skin, so I concluded that Arizona doesn’t require the flow restrictors that bedevil California plumbing. Still, the hot, forceful shower was strangely invigorating. Not bad for a nondescript motel in the middle of nowhere. When my wife asked me why I was staying at a $40 motel, I told her because I was feeling, at my age, I can afford to live it up.

The reason we’re talking about binary is that the settlement patterns out here in Arizona strike me as binary (for lack of a better word). You drive for miles and miles with nothing but red earth, cacti, and the occasional tumbleweed to see through the windshield. And then, suddenly, there’s a small settlement, like an oasis, where a small community of hardy souls are scratching out a living. And then, just as suddenly, all signs of civilization disappear and it’s just you and the saguaros again.

Today’s trek began in Globe, a town in western Arizona that, as I mentioned yesterday, I drove through last spring during my Route 60 trip. As I drove out of Globe on this alternate transcontinental route at daybreak, I marked the occasion with a photo of the westernmost Route 70 sign.

And then, for good measure, I turned around and took a photo of the sign facing the opposite direction:

I suppose I’m exhibiting geographical chauvinism when I call Globe the start of US 70, since the folks in the east surely consider Atlantic, NC to be the start. But let’s just agree that Globe is my start of US 70, one of the two binary options at each terminus.

The drive across Arizona was quiet, pleasant, uneventful. The sunrise in the east was a sight to behold.

Mid-morning I came upon a small (sub-narrow-gauge) steam train sitting behind a fence. The train turned out (oddly, when you think about it) to be part of a space museum on the campus of Eastern Arizona College.

Besides the steam train (!), the museum has an observatory and three space telescopes, a space shuttle simulator, displays about space study and exploration, and a camera obscura. This last item is the one that intrigued me, for two reasons. First, is the Night Gallery episode of the same name, which I watched in 1971 which still gives me nightmares. Secondly, my friend Bill recently shared with me that there is a large Camera Obscura in Santa Monica. I haven’t yet visited that facility, so I figured I’d check out this one in Safford, AZ to see what all the fuss is about .

I’m sorry to report that the device in question is little more than a large lens or two that projects a landscape image from outside the building onto a screen inside the building. Here; see the image for yourself:

Careful observers will note that the landscape is upside down. Otherwise, it’s exactly the same image you’d see if you just looked out the window. The tour guide showing me this wonder of science did just that; unshuttered a window to let me see that it was indeed the same image. I’m still not sure what the practical use of this device is.

But the tour guide (Jackie) was worth more than the price of admission (which, truth be told, was zero). She pounced on me the moment I walked into the building, and it was clear that I was her first, and probably only, visitor of the day. She showed me all around the museum with all the excitement of a girl showing off her presents on Christmas morning. You had to admire her enthusiasm.

Eventually I told Jackie I had to get back on the road, and as I backed out of the building she encouraged me to come back and see the telescope next time I’m in town. At first I thought that will never happen. But then I remembered that I thought the same thing the first time I drove through Globe last year….

I returned to the familiar pavement of US 70. As I mentioned on the US 50 and US 60 blogs, there’s something very comforting or reassuring about taking a single road across the US. I mean it’s really hard to get lost, as you just have to remember one number (70) and one direction (east). My hat is off to the folks who post signage on these US highways.

On more than a few occasions today I noticed old, abandoned structures and vehicles set back from the road. I’m often saddened by these tableaus, which stand like headstones marking lives that were once lived here . The fact that these artifacts weren’t moved, or demolished, or rehabilitated suggests the result of some catastrophe (bankruptcy, a death). Or maybe they were abandoned in despair, cut loose as their owners chose to start again somewhere else. But out here on these lonely roads, there seems to be an inordinate number of these markers bearing mute testimony to a forgotten, unmourned past.

And yet, I experienced an entirely different series of thoughts when I came upon the ghost town of Shakespeare, N.M. (population: 0). An earlier incarnation of the town was named Ralston City, home to several thousand miners during the silver boom of the 1870s. As the easy silver played itself out, landowners tried to attract investment back into town by seeding the nearby hills with diamonds, hoping to convince eastern financiers that the land was valuable for diamond mining. The scam was quickly exposed, however, in part because cut, faceted diamonds are pretty unusual in the wild…

But the town received a new life, and a new name, when Col. William Boyle bought up key mining claims and renamed the town “Shakespeare,” thinking, perhaps not illogically, that it evoked colorful history, education, and literacy. More importantly, the new name distanced the town from that unpleasant business of the diamond hoax. The renamed town enjoyed some prosperity during a second mining boom, and then gradually lost its population around the turn of the century. That’s where you’d expect this story to end, and perhaps a few of the buildings or their foundations could mutely tell the grim tale to passersby on US 70 like myself. But instead, a couple named Frank and Rita Hill bought the town in 1935. After trying their hand at ranching, they decided that the town’s rich history, made manifest by its old buildings and artifacts, were the real value here. And so they had it designated as a National Historic Site, did considerable rehabilitation to the structures, and began giving tours. Their daughter Janaloo and her husband Manny took over the operation after Frank and Rita passed. Then Janaloo died, leaving Manny to run it. Manny died just over a year ago, in 2018.

And once again, you’d think that would be the end of the story. But Janaloo and Manny had had a daughter, who married a young man (Dave) out in Ohio. The two of them came back to Arizona after Manny’s passing, and Dave now runs the ghost town.

It was Dave who met me at the gate, and it was to Dave that I paid $7 for a two hour, custom, solo, guided tour of the property. That’s fully two-thirds of the length of the Minnow’s tour on Gilligan’s Island. For only $7. You’ve got to wonder how he makes a go of this. (Yes, I left a hefty tip at the conclusion of the tour.)

I won’t go into more detail about Shakespeare, other than to recommend you visit it whenever you’re in Arizona. And to note that, unlike the abandoned buildings I’d seen along the road earlier, the buildings in Shakespeare, despite their worn condition, inspire hope rather than regret. They are owned and cared for and — can I say it? — loved by Dave, and even by the small trickle of tourists that visit it. I suppose that’s what’s meant by keeping a business or a dream or a ghost town “alive.” The stories are still told, with gusto.

One coda to the Shakespeare story: Billy the Kid evidently worked as a dishwasher here for a short spell. Alert readers will recall that The Kid has been a recurring figure in my travels. Last year, on my US 60 trip, I visited his grave in Fort Sumner, NM. And shortly after leaving Shakespeare, I paid a visit to the grave of Sheriff Patrick Floyd Garrett, who is reputed to be the person who shot The Kid in 1881.

As the afternoon wore on, I was in need for sustenance and a libation, so I dropped by a newish brew pub in Las Cruces, NM named Picacho Peak Brewing Company. There I consumed one of the best BLTs ever, along with fries that were perfectly cooked and doused with enough salt to do major cellular damage to my insides. It was a delicious meal. But when I asked the bartender (a young man of 24 named Juan) to help me choose a beer to go along with the meal, he confessed he couldn’t help because “I don’t like beer.” Now, I know there are lots of people who don’t like beer, but I doubt there are lots of bartenders who don’t like beer. No matter, though. I found a good libation (detailed below), and talked with Juan about life in Las Cruces. He’s studying hospitality and food service at the local community college, and managing events at the brew pub. After he graduates, unlike most of the young people I talk to in these towns, Juan wants to stay in the town and start his own business. I would not be at all surprised if he’s successful with this dream.

While Juan and I talked, a few regulars came in and we all started talking. It turns out that one of them (Rocky Burke) is a former pro boxer and is evidently a favorite son in Las Cruces. Rocky kept showing me pictures on his phone of him with various boxers. But he was most proud of appearing in the movie “Love Ranch” (a 2010 movie with Helen Mirren and Joe Pesci).

I have to confess this was one of the most friendly, welcoming group of guys I’ve ever seen in a bar. We drank our beers and chatted, but the road was calling to me so I made my goodbyes and got into the trusty Ford. I’d only had one beer, but this is what I saw as I drove down the street:

BREW OF THE DAY

Today’s brew was a Green Chile Amber from Picacho Brewing Company in Las Cruces. It’s hazy to the point that it looks like unfiltered apple cider. For something with “green chile” in its name, it really didn’t taste very spicy. It didn’t have much of a nose on it at all (as opposed to myself…), and the hops were barely noticeable. The first few sips were unremarkable, bordering on disappointing. But the mouthfeel was substantial without being heavy, and after a bit I began to feel a warm glow. (The ABV on this beer is 6.2, which isn’t huge, but still.) I have to conclude that the chiles, without making the drink spicy, make it “warm.” In the end, I enjoyed it as a pleasant drink for a cold January day. Which today was.

Tomorrow it’s off to Roswell! Let’s hope you hear from me tomorrow evening…