Pinal and Gila Ramble

Pinal and Gila Ramble:
Superior, Globe and the Salt River Canyon
The Outs
The Noise
March 2011
Ellen Jo Roberts



            Globe, Arizona is a mere three-hours down the road from home, yet it seems like an alternate universe. An Arizona we could be living in here in the Verde Valley, if the mines were still open and operating. Globe and its neighboring cities, Miami and Superior, are all picturesque historic communities built by copper.  There are a couple of roads down into Globe from the north and east. One route is Highway 188 via 87, and one route is 60 via Phoenix. U.S. Route 60, stretching from Virginia to western Arizona, has been gradually bypassed across the country by interstate travel. It is one of my favorite Arizona highways: a small town backbone winding its way through vintage towns and beautifully faded abandon throughout the state. It’s time machine that inspires the imagination.
  
         Highway 60 takes you through Superior, a sun-baked dream at the base of Apache Leap. Located 65 miles east of Phoenix, the historic small town is nestled into wildly scenic granite formations. It’s like a movie set! That’s because it is a movie set! Many motion pictures, including “Eight Legged Freaks” and “U-Turn”, were filmed there along its picturesque vintage streets and dusty sunsets. Superior has the looks naturally that Hollywood always strives for artificially any time the script requires a seedy- offbeat- 20th century- small western town. Heavily Hispanic in population, Superior is all churches and bars, with an occasional artist hipster thrown into the mix. I love Superior as an unspoiled relic of days gone by, not ironic, and not polished. I secretly wish I could move there, and be a part of some bound-to-happen renaissance. But, it seems perhaps not the best place to find a job. The only place usually open on Main Street, other than a handful of antique shops, is the cantina, with cool musty air spilling out onto the sidewalk from its open doors and shady interior.



The Boyce Thompson Arboretum is probably the most well known tourist attraction of the general area. Founded in 1925 and since the 1960s managed by the University of Arizona and Arizona State Parks, the arboretum fills a long cozy canyon with an amazing array of desert botanic specimens. It’s renowned for its Australian forest of eucalyptus varieties. As with all Arizona State Parks, they allow dogs, on leashes, so your canine companion can stroll the park with you.  From Superior to Globe is another 25 miles, including a pass through the Queen Creek Tunnel (1952), twisting roads surrounded by amazing rock, “the Top of the World” and then a gradual downhill into Miami. Though they are separate cities, Miami is often intertwined with Globe, and many of the local organizations wear the moniker “Globe-Miami”.



A collection of scenic highways springs forth from the area, providing additional adventure to the north and south. Highway 77 is a low slung 69 mile loop that connects Superior to Globe. Catching up to the Gila River via the Dripping Springs Mountains, and a town called Christmas, 77 is a fun jaunt for motorcycle gangs and car clubs. Passing through the communities of Winkelman and Hayden you can see active mining operations, mountains of tailings, and trains in action carrying ore.



       We’ve been to Globe a couple of times in the past year visiting friends who are restoring a 101 year old home there, high on Noftsger Hill. The city is decorated with a great variety of vintage architecture, impossibly steep streets, and fantastic vistas. Founded in 1875 on land known by local Apaches as “Besh Baa Gowah” or “place of metals”, Globe supposedly earned its name from a globular lump of silver mined there. The Arizona Eastern Railway services the area mining operations, as well as shuttles tourists to the nearby Apache Gold Casino via their “Copper Spike” passenger excursion. Globe is the seat of Gila County.




The city’s downtown business district features many surprisingly serious buildings, glowering with Corinthian columns of sober stone. The neighborhoods, comprised mostly of wood frame houses perched high on cascading hillsides, seem somehow familiar and foreign all at once, as if we were in Mexico. Neighbors wave and chat, friendly to strange passers-by. Yard art and improvised construction abounds: dinosaur encrusted fence tops, castle-like viewing decks, eccentric gazebos, coated with brightly colored paint. Since 1985, Globe has had a Historic Home and Building Tour each year. The 2011 tour takes place on the weekend of March 5th and 6th.



         Globe High School is notable for several of its past students: Arizona’s first woman governor, Rose Mofford, “Wonder Woman” Lynda Carter, and Anton LaVey, founder of the “Church of Satan”. What this says about Globe’s unusual mix of energies I’m not sure. Noisy trucks, strange noises in the night and beautiful ruins provoke a twinge of fear, like perhaps there is danger here. Globe’s sister city, Miami, seems a bit rougher around the edges, a bit seedier though similarly picturesque in its rural decay.  



As the largest city in the area, Globe is a commercial center for Southern Gila County. It’s also a jumping off point for adventures on the Salt River. Up Highways 70/77, through the neighboring San Carlos/White Mountain Apache Reservation, the Salt River Canyon looms, an unsung beauty of giant proportions. Many know the river in its tame, below-the-dam incarnation, famous for subdued tubing trips nearer the sprawl of Phoenix. Others recognize it as that trickle that feeds into Tempe Town Lake.



  
 The real Salt, above the dams and flowing in its natural unfettered state, is a special rarity and part of a dwindling desert family of perennially flowing rivers and streams. The river begins at the White Mountains’ Mount Baldy and en route south it gathers up the Verde, and assorted streams like Carrizo, Cibecue, Canyon, Pinal and Medicine Creeks. The “Salt River Project” is an Arizona utility company that gathers both water and energy from four hydroelectric dams along the Salt River. The National Reclamation Act of 1902 promoted the harnessing of the wild river for ranchers and farmers. Theodore Roosevelt Dam, the first of the dams, was completed in 1911 and created Roosevelt Lake just north of Globe. It was followed to the south by Mormon Flat Dam in 1925 (Canyon Lake), Horse Mesa Dam in 1927 (Apache Lake) and Stewart Mountain Dam in 1930 (Saguaro Lake). Above the Roosevelt Dam the Salt runs how nature intended, wild and jagged through a deep scenic canyon, much of it protected by the Tonto National Forest and the White Mountain and San Carlos Apache Tribes.



Seeing the Salt River Canyon for the first time can take your breath away. It’s several hours from everywhere, a lengthy detour to most, and for this reason, perhaps, seldom seen.



Mike Roseman is a river ranger for the Tonto National Forest out of Globe. “If the Grand Canyon was not in Arizona, the Salt River Canyon would be much more famous,” chuckles Roseman, known as “Rosie” to his pals. Previously a commercial river guide for Salt River Rafting, since 2004 Mr. Roseman has worked with the forest service, leading rafting expeditions on the Salt during the spring months when the water is highest. He emphasizes the importance of the Salt being protected, as one of the last free-flowing rivers of the southwest. “I don’t think a lot of the people in the Valley of the Sun even realize that the Salt is their lifeblood." He continues, “So many things change so fast in Arizona, it’s important to have and protect places like this. What the Salt River’s done for me is it’s a place where you can see Arizona’s soul.”
Mr. Roseman also mentions the importance of the White Mountain Apaches’ interesting and complicated history in the area, “They’re one of the few tribes to hold onto their ancestral lands. They kept their lands and have a living language.” Protecting the river with tribal permit use, the Apache are a significant reason for the river’s pristine wilderness. Its remote location also protects it from excessive use.
The river running season is dependent on seasonal snowfall. Though the ranger loves the high water seasons, of which recently they’ve enjoyed many, he says, “It’s probably good when there’s a drought year. It helps the area recharge.” There are several spots to access the river once Highway 70/77 switchbacks down to its shore. It’s a worthy stop for a camp out, a river excursion, or even just something short and simple like a pleasant picnic along its banks.

Superior, Globe, and the Salt River Canyon make for an epic loop of seldom seen scenic adventure.
Startling in both its remoteness and natural beauty, the region has much important Arizona history, and perhaps a key to its future in commodities both monetary and priceless.


       
For more information:
raftthesalt.com
globemiamichamber.com
copperspike.com
superior-arizona.com
ag.arizona.edu.bta

Ellen Jo Roberts was born during the month of March. She is celebrating 10 years of living in a historic brick home with Bike Daddy Chad, assorted pets, and vintage Volkswagens.
Read more about it at ellenjo.com

Real Mexican

Real Mexican
The Noise
The Outs-March 2010
Ellen Jo Roberts


In my next life I want to come back as a Mariachi. They have such zest and good cheer, wear such dashing outfits, and get paid big bucks to whistle like jilguerillo birds.

“Hello from Mexico where I have collected a slight sunburn, a small bag of sea shells, some tequila souvenirs for pals, and many photographs. The locals are all congenial, and they all tell me I speak with a Norteňo accent.”

Recently, I went to Cancun for a friend’s wedding. Cancun was an invention of the Mexican government in the 1960s, developed as a tourism location. Along the Caribbean Sea in the Yucatan, it’s a Mexico unfamiliar, much different than our desert Mexico out west. Where our neighbor, Sonora, is dry, mountainous, dusty, full of cactus, and American retiree RVs, the Yucatan peninsula is green, tropical, flat, low elevation lush, and full of hard-bodied international 20-somethings, dancing ‘til dawn.






I’ve been to Mexico about 9 or 10 times now. A passport did not used to be required to drive across the border, but as of June 2009, tightening travel restrictions demand it. Arizonans frequently head to Mexico for lower priced prescriptions and dental work. We go there for amusement and adventures.




The first time we went to Mexico was a trip down the Baja California peninsula, to Ensenada, in 1997. We were alarmed at the confusing lack of street signs, and the abundance of litter. Thieves stole a bag of rubber rafts and a bike pump from our Toyota. We ate fish tacos at a street corner stand for every meal, drank cheap Kahlua and slept in our truck on the beach every night.
The Pacific was big, grey and cold. After dark, glowing green phosphorescent algae illuminated each crashing wave, like a most magical fireworks show.




Not long after the foray into Baja, we discovered a closer coastal town, Puerto Peñasco, Sonora. Also known as “Rocky Point”, it’s a Spring Break mecca to thousands of Arizona college students, being a mere 3 hour drive from metro Phoenix (even faster if you’re a lead foot). There’s an incredible tidal fluctuation where the Sea of Cortez meets Puerto Peñasco— revealing anywhere from 30 to 300 feet of shoreline, and amazing tidal pools brimming with wee creatures.
We spent many years escaping to those beaches, staying in cheap motels where you couldn’t flush the toilet paper, riding bikes to the beaches, kayaking, snorkeling, collecting shells, chatting with friendly locals and shrimp fishermen.







Puerto Peñasco is home to “C.E.D.O”., a renowned center of study for aquatic mammals of the Sea of Cortez, especially a rare and endangered cetacean, a type of short nosed porpoise known as the Vaquita, native only to these waters. Over the years, Puerto Peñasco has both prospered and suffered from its proximity to the U.S. The formerly small fishing community is now overrun by luxury high-rise time shares, and desert golf resorts. Technically, foreigners are not allowed to own property in Mexico, especially not near the coast. However, an elaborate round-about way via second parties and bank trusts does allow it, unfortunately making Mexico more American by the minute.
One must get further and further away from the border to find the real Mexico.




Our Baja Bug once ran out of gas outside of Sonoita. We had to push the car along the highway, singing to the Kinks on the tape deck until some Phoenix dude in a toy hauler stopped, and sold us a couple of gallons to get us into town.






Another time on the same road while returning from a Sonoran adventure with amigos, about 40 kilometers shy of the Arizona border, all of the truck’s dash warning lights lit up like Christmas. Much shouting, and distressed profanities as we pulled over to the roadside. It was July and a relentless 111 degrees. Luckily for us, we were near a small ranch house, the only structure for many miles. The woman who answered the door was named Socorro. My friend Hilda and I chatted with her, while Chad and Lucio attempted to remedy the Toyota’s problems. Seems the air-conditioning belt had sprung loose and hopped right into the engine’s fan belt. Everything was wedged tight. The situation seemed dire. Our lack of proper tools was foolish. At one point Lucio was wielding a giant rock, poised over the hot engine like a deranged caveman. Socorro asked us what we needed. We explained that if only we had a new fan belt we could just cut all that tangled mess out and replace the one belt most vital. She led us to her backyard, where a mesquite tree was covered with an assortment of fan belts in every size, dangling like delicious fruit in front of my teary eyes. We gave her $20 American dollars and a giant head-sized mango from our cooler, and soon we were back on the road home. Perhaps it’s only fitting that “Socorro” translates literally as “help” or “assistance.”

We snapped a photo of Socorro. Americans are always very smiley in photos, but as customary with “Real Mexicans”, Socorro did not smile. Instead she remained stoic, same as two of her young grandchildren standing with her, all three looking so serious.





I got schooled on “Real Mexicans” during the many years of my Arizona life spent working at hotels and resorts, with Mexican immigrants, both legal and not quite so legal. Some days I barely spoke English at all, and I loved it. I even started to think in Spanish. It is a time fondly remembered and I am forever grateful for all I learned. The Mexicans were surprised I could handle it, working so hard, side by side with them, but I changed their perceptions of Americans, just as they enlightened me to their Mexican ways. First off, they all thought I was typically “American” for wanting 2 days off a week. Most of them worked at least 2 or 3 jobs, and thought Americans were lazy.

“I am like an American today,” my friend Hilda joked with me, “Staying at home, under the covers, watching TV!” Hilda, a Jalisco native, has always encouraged me, telling me if she could be a success in a foreign country I had no proper excuse not to succeed in my own native land. Mexicans like to work hard. They don’t want to discuss it; they just want to do it. Americans are too enamored with lengthy meetings, chatter, and creating too many pieces of paperwork.




Mexicans like to give funny and insulting nicknames to each other. The little skinny-legged guy was Apėnas salir de un huevo, or “just hatched from an egg”. The drunk was Gusano Muerto, the dead worm in the bottom of the mescal bottle. The lady with the goofy walk and the big nose was La Guacamaya, some type of equally silly-looking bird. The really old guy was Listo Para Morir (Ready to Die). The woman with the large butt was known as simply as “Big in the Back”. “Mexican men like the ‘big in the back’ ladies,” they explained.

I had myriad nicknames, all alluding to my gigantic stature, including Macedona (which I think translates to “mastodon”), and Grandota. “Mėndiga” was another one, meaning too sneaky or clever for my own good. I learned that they only gave nicknames to people they liked.
It was an honor. If they didn’t like you, they didn’t even bother.

As serious as a Real Mexican could be in a photo, it was completely the opposite in life: joking, goofing, jovial all the time. It always confounds me that the Arizona government considers Mexican immigrants equivalent to terrorists. There has got to be a better way to handle the situation along our borders.




On my most recent trip to Mexico, I was traveling alone, moving from airport to airport, shuffling along in lines with strangers. By the end of my trip, my thoughts became clear and concise in the way they only can while traveling alone. Thinking more than speaking. Looking out on the world from 30,000 feet up. Observations become crystalline. Mexico, an amazingly varied landscape full of wonderfully warm people, incredible art, music, history, is often thought of as being corrupt, dangerous, violent, impoverished. Sure, it is all of these things, but there’s so much more to the story. Our lives here, al otro lado (on the other side of the border), are equally complex. In fact, compared to the way things are going in the U.S., Mexico doesn’t actually seem quite so mismanaged anymore. Maybe I’ll move there.
In my next life, as a Mariachi.



Ellen Jo Roberts was born in Illinois (1972). She lives in a historic Clarkdale Arizona house (1914) and drives a yellow car built in Germany (1973). She is married to Bike Daddy Chad (Illinois 1972). They share their home with assorted pets born in the 21st century. Read all about it at ellenjo.com