Our time in Arizona has come to an end, just in time for the heat to set in.

We arrived in Elfrida in mid-February, already knowing that the caretaking job we had agreed to do at one property had morphed into a caretaking job at another property just down the road. Long story.

Unsure of what to expect when we agreed to that job, we went with the flow and gave it a shot.

“At it’s core, adventure is a willingness to commit to an uncertain outcome with an open heart and an open mind.”

Our situation ended up being much different than we originally envisioned, but it was still a positive adventure. We connected with some great folks who we plan on staying in touch with for future winter caretaking opportunities.

Just as we were getting ready to go, a very dear friend of ours from Eureka passed away. He was young and vibrant and should never have left this earth so soon. The unfairness of it all is upsetting beyond words.

We’re not ready to share his story just yet, since a life like his deserves so much more mental bandwidth than I can dig up right now.

When word came of his passing, we knew we had to be there for his memorial service in Eureka. So instead of pointing east to Texas, we turned and went the other way.

After a too-brief visit with family in L.A., we’re now driving north and will be in our old stomping grounds, Humboldt County, for a short stay. Time to dig up the winter clothes that I had just put away.  Brrrr….

Good, bad, boring, adventurous, whatever; there’s never any telling what will happen in life. All we can do is live as best we can and try to make a positive, lasting impact on others in this world, just as our friend did.

Industrial tourism has a place in the American landscape. These sites are like train wrecks and natural disasters; you just can’t help but look twice at the horrific results.

From the world’s largest open pit ecological disaster in Butte Montana to the Lavender Pit Open Mine here in Bisbee, the North American continent is full of scenic locations that showcase man’s wanton destruction of the planet through the years.

Some of them make great attractions, while others make you want to turn your head and weep.

We’re here in Bisbee, ground zero of Arizona’s copper, silver and gold mining boom of the late 19th century.

This town once prospered because of man’s awesome ability to cut open the earth and extract riches.

Bisbee was a company town complete with housing, schools and stores for employees who took on this dangerous work to feed their families for a pittance of a salary.

Bisbee Today

There was once incredible wealth here and today many of the oldest buildings still stand.

Bisbee’s narrow streets and twisted pathways lead to houses stacked on top of eachother, perched alongside the steep hills this town was built on.

Funky thrift stores housed in historic buildings and cafes built into mountainsides give it a dusty Southwestern flair that’s attracted tons of creatives.

Soon after the artists arrived, however, so did the art buyers, which meant that real estate prices went sky-high and proprietors figured out how valuable those antiques in their junk stores really were. There are few real deals to be found here.

That’s alright though. Some of the “come here’s” progressive attitudes have really improved this community. There’s recycling on every corner and a true appreciation for public art, not just the kind that hangs over a wealthy person’s mantle.

Relics of Bisbee’s past blend with modern artistic touches that make it an interesting place to amble along on a Saturday afternoon.

While it’s somewhat out of your way to get here unless you’re going to the Mexican border, trust me when I say it’s worth a visit.

There’s no place like Bisbee.

There’s a lot to be said for staying in one location, if only for a month or so.

After just a couple of weeks at our current gig, caretaking a vacant property in Southern Arizona, we’ve already settled in nicely and created daily routines that revolve around working, playing, eating and resting.

These routines are much like those of a stick-house dweller’s, except that we don’t see anyone else all week until we leave the property to go grocery shopping.

It’s just us and the wind most days. Oh, and the nasty javalenas.

Caretaking 101

The assignment is easy and our bosses are great people. They’re not asking much  from us, so we have plenty of time to catch up on our own work and bringing home the bacon. We love it.

We feel fortunate to have hooked up with a gig like this, thanks to fellow roadtrippers Kelly and Al of the Bayfield Bunch.

They’ve known the property owners here for a while and were caretaking a neighboring property, but just left.

The weather’s almost been nice enough to work and eat al fresco, but it just turned ugly and we hope this is only temporary.

Still, even during the brisk 50 degree evenings we’re seeing incredible sunsets, like this one. I’ve made a pledge to see every one while we’re here. Most of them look something like this (and no, I didn’t Photoshop this image).

Meanwhile, our Wyatt loves the freedom to roam the fenced property like a dirty ol’ ranch dawg. He’s made a  new friend too.

Gregory the Peccary.

That nasty javalena drives Wyatt insane (moreso than usual) whenever he makes an appearance at sunset. Gregory provides hours of entertainment for all of us.

Water, Water….everywhere?

I was surprised to see that even the smallest properties around here have irrigation running out to landscaping, chicken coops, you name it.

After all, we come from Colorado, where it’s illegal to wash our truck, or water our outdoor plants with our own well water. Water is so precious to Coloradoans, because no water comes into the state, but it all leaves and heads south . . . eventually ending up right here, in the big ol’ Rio Grande dustbowl along the border.

Once that precious resource gets here, people get to water their plants with the very same water that I’m not allowed to use in my backyard, where it originally comes from.

I have to buy water from our property association if I want to use it for outdoor purposes. But Arizonans don’t. Huh?

I like griping about it. Jim says I’m just mad because I can’t use water like this on our property without getting busted. You bet I would, if I could get away with it.

Off the Grid, Away from the Rules

But here in Southern Arizona, just shy of the border, it’s no-man’s land. People who live here are free to do what they want. From the funky handbuilt houses to the backyard shooting ranges, in a lot of ways the Wild West lives on.

And why not?

If you’re rugged enough to make a home for yourself here, I guess you deserve to make your own rules. It’s not exactly the most hospitable environment and most people aren’t cut out for it. I know I’m not.

Someone’s gotta do it though, right?

There are some great sights nearby, like the artsy old mining town of Bisbee, which we plan on exploring more during our stay.

Until then, we’re putting our noses to the grindstone, working away to make a buck on that great hamster wheel of life. We put in some long hours most days, but at least we’ve got a spectacular view out of our office window.

We’ve always wanted to go RVing in Mexico. I have a long lost cousin in the beautiful small town of Cuernavaca, and I know other RVers who’ve spent long beautiful winters in Mexico. But when the border violence started escalating, we heeded warnings from friends and family and stayed away.

This year we tempted fate, and on a whim headed to Organ Pipe National Monument in Arizona, which is spitting distance from the Mexican border. It’s a beautiful park, much like Big Bend in Texas, but with more plant diversity (in my un-scientific opinion).

Being the low-budget travelers that we are, we camped at a remote free BLM campground outside of the park, and saw this warning as soon as we pulled in.

While we’ve heard rumors about immigration and drug running routes going through this park, we took this sign as more government hype.

That is until about 11 pm on our first night, when we saw a truck speeding through the campground, cruising around, obviously looking for someone.

While there were at least 5 other RVs in the park, it was a little disconcerting to think that really illegal activity was actually going on right outside our trailer. But with the swarms of border patrol agents hanging out in the area, we slept OK.

The next day we went on a long walk out into the desert and saw tons of beautiful plants and flowers. Later in the afternoon, I read about the murder of a prominent Arizona rancher that happened the previous day, about 200 miles from us in Douglas. The rancher’s murder has inflamed the anger of locals in the area who want more security. I can’t blame them.

The was the first border murder on U.S. soil since park ranger Kris Eggle was killed in 2002 while on duty near the park.

At the border town of Lukeville, we saw many RVers coming back from Mexico. I was partly jealous, partly thinking “those guys are NUTS!”

So what I want to know is, just how much of what we hear about the violence in Mexico is exaggerated by the media, and how much is real?

I want to talk to other RVers who’ve gone there in the last year, and find out what their experience was. Traveling south is something we really want to do, and I’m getting antsy to make this trek, possibly next winter.

Anyone with any feedback on recent RV experiences in Mexico, I’d love to hear about it.

Forget what the Department of Homeland Security says. Not all border crossings are identical. Each point of entry seems to have its own quirks about what proves you’re a citizen.

In Douglas Arizona, we sashayed into Mexico on foot. The crossing was free, and we showed our California driver’s licenses as proof of nationality.

In Del Rio, Texas, crossing over on foot wasn’t so easy.

First, we had to walk a mile out of the way because of the stupid border fence construction. Then, we were forced to pay seventy five cents per person, just to walk across a mile long bridge over the Rio Grande, and into Mexico. Upon our return, we had to pay again, then show our birth certificates and driver’s licenses to the border patrol. Good thing we took ‘em, because there was no indication that they were required on the U.S. side when we went into Mexico. After June 1st, supposedly everyone will need a passport.

During our long walk over the bridge into Mexico, an old Mexican man was walking in front of us, carrying grocery bags. A guy in a pickup pulled over to offer him a ride into town. It took us a second to realize that he was also offering us a ride. The old guy got in, but we said “No gracias.” This was one of those situations in which we really wanted to believe in the best of humanity, but just couldn’t bring ourselves to take him up on the offer, with all of the borderlands violence we’ve heard about.

Was crossing over for the day worth it? Not really. We could’ve had the same experience in the nearest Texas ghetto. And like my Dad says, border towns aren’t the real Mexico. They’re so geared toward tourists that any trace of authenticity is gone.

Well, not everything. You’ll still find potholed streets, dirty air, crumbling sidewalks and hooker bars. But keep in mind that if you go, you’re going to get harassed beyond belief by aggressive storekeepers who are obviously hurting because of the U.S. recession.

As far as the reported threats of violence in border towns, we never once felt like we were in any danger, but then again, we didn’t venture too far out of the fake touristy areas, or take rides with strangers.

After leaving Slab City, it was a revelation to think that we’d been back in California since November. I couldn’t believe we’d been there for so long. But when you come from a big Mexican family like I do, it takes about that long to make the rounds and see everyone!

We blew through Arizona, because familiarity breeds contempt. I used to live there in the early ’90s, and I don’t know what it is about the Grand Canyon State, but I just don’t like it. Maybe that’s because when my Dad lived in Jerome (about 100 miles north of Phoenix) in the 1930s, he was forced to attend a segregated “Mexicans only” school while my grandfather worked as a miner.

Headed east, we stopped in Douglas, Arizona along the Mexican border. On a whim, we parked our rig at the border crossing and walked into Mexico, just to be able to say we’ve now been to three countries in our rig.

The contrast between the U.S. side and the Mexican side is obvious. On our side, there’s shiny new strip malls and Wallyworld. On their side, just a half mile away, there are potholed streets and zero evidence of building codes.

We walked around, got some great pan dulces and a jugo de pina. Took some photos and felt sorry for some skinny Mexican dogs. Then we turned around, and walked back over. Just. Like. That. Our five dollar Mexican vacation was over in a couple of hours.

Upon our return, I thought about how my family set down U.S. roots in the 1930s. Both sets of my Grandparents hopped the fence before “illegal immigration” was an issue. All they wanted was for their kids to have a better life, and we’ve managed to accomplish that, and then some.

Three generations later, there I was, returning to the Other Side like it was no big deal. That’s America for you.