My Halloween

The day started off innocently enough. I awoke this morning in the little town of Wilcox, Arizona, having booked it clear across West Texas and New Mexico yesterday.

My first destination was Tombstone, of wild west and OK Corral fame. There, I found a town that looked as though it had not changed in 100 years, excepting having been turned into a tourist attraction. Stagecoaches offer rides up and down the main boulevard. Mock gunfights are held every hour on the hour. The saloon can be entered through swinging doors. Cowboys and 6-shooter carrying sheriffs pace up and down the streets, only breaking from character to hand out flyers advertising museums, gunfights, and tours. And the same theater that hosted vaudeville shows for the likes of Wyatt Earp and Doc Holliday still sits on the edge of town.

From Tombstone, I drove down some Arizona backroads to my next destination, Green Valley, the home of a now decommissioned Titan II ICBM silo. Between 1963 and the SALT treaties with the USSR, 18 such silos were manned 24-7 by a crew of 4 Air Force servicemen, all poised to launch a nuclear missile at the USSR upon request by the President. I dont really understand why, but I've always been a bit obsessed with nuclear arms and, well, the military in general. Maybe it's having grown up on Ronald Reagan and GI Joe, and in eastern NC at that, where the military has a heavy presence. The technology developed for these weapons was just remarkable. We're talking about the early 60s, before even color televisions were available. This was a missile that could hit within a block of it's target on the other side of the world. The men manning the silo could communicate with commanders anywhere in the world using any of a number of transmitters, including one that sends and receives signals through the earth's crust. Being in the silo was like taking a step 40 years into the past, but yet, here we were being told about the incredible abilities the military had back then. The 740 ton door to the silo would open in about 18 seconds. The 100 ton missile could launch in less than a minute. And the silo and living quarters were built to survive all but a direct hit by a nuclear warhead.

We developed these technologies in the 50s and 60s, not to mention landing on the moon; yet most of our automobiles are still powered by a technology developed at the beginning of the 20th century! What the hell?

Anyway, later in the day, around sunset, I finally found myself in the primary destination today, Saguaro National Park. It was spectacular. I'll post the pictures soon, because no words can do it justice. I love southern Arizona.

I managed to see enough of the park to be satisfied with moving on for the day in all of an hour. I would prefer to go on some hikes and really take in the scenery and wildlife, but my time is short. So, I started booking it out of the park. At an ess curve just inside the eastern edge of the park, I hit a pothole on the edge of the road and blew both of my passenger-side tires.

Now, I'm a pretty cool customer under duress. Most people would probably be pretty pissed at this point. I simply hopped out of my car and called my brother, Joey, to look up some phone numbers for me. The highway patrol gave me the numbers to a couple of towing services. The first one I called was none too enthused about the prospect of heading out to the national park to pick me up. They basically said they could do it later in the weekend. The next one said the same. I called the highway patrol back, told the dispatcher the what happened, and she responded, "you've got to be kidding me!" She told me to hold on and called one of the services herself. When she came back onto the line, she assured me that they would help me when I call back. The towing company dispatcher apologized to me, took some information, and then tried to get my location. "I'm on Picture Rocks Road just inside the park," I told her. "I need something more than that," she responded. I told her that I'm a tourist, just passing through. I really didnt know the area. I just drove into the park from I-10, and was heading back out the same way.

"Well, I need a landmark or something, because I dont want my driver driving all over the park looking for you."

"Ma'am, I'm just inside the edge of the park on Picture Rocks Road, I'm not sure what else to tell you."

"I need a landmark. I cant just send out my driver to Picture Rocks Road."

I was standing there, surrounded by rocks, cacti, and NOTHING ELSE! So, I told her that. She told me again that she needed a landmark. I said, "well, about a mile down the road, I see some houses, I guess I could go down there, knock on a door, and ask what the neighborhood is called."

I was being a smart-ass. The dispatcher told me to call her back when I did that.

Looking down the road, which was a pretty busy and winding 2-lane road without much of a shoulder. The sun was setting and I'm in the desert. The prospect of walking down that road wasnt all too appealing. Instead, I called my brother again and tried to get some landmarks on google maps. This information proved to be satisfactory to the dispatcher who finally put me into contact with a driver.

"Now, you know it'll be at LEAST 3 hours before I can get out to you, right?"

"Okay, I guess."

"And it'll be..." whatever exorbitant price she gave me.

"Okay, I guess. I guess I dont really have a choice, do I?"

"Alright, I'll give you a call before I come out."

Great. There I was on the side of the road on Halloween waiting for a tow truck to take my car to the other side of the city, apparently, and hopefully drop me off at a nearby hotel. I really didnt enjoy the prospects. So, I called Joey again to get the numbers to some taxis. No go. No one would come out. Then I decided to just hoof it. It would be 3 hours anyway, so I figured I could probably get myself to a hotel in the meantime.

About 100 feet down the road, having donned jeans and shoes to account for the prospect of scorpion and rattlesnake run-ins, I met a lovely woman named Sara, who pulled her truck off of the road before me and, Camel clasped between her nicotine stained teeth, or at least the 4-5 she had left, asked if I needed a ride. I told Sara about my car, and she told me that some friends of hers run a tire shop right up the street. She gave me their number right off the top of her head. Sara and I went back to my car to get the tire sizes, and realized that there was no visible physical damage. Apparently, all I needed was an air compressor, and I could fill up my tires and hit the road. That's what I told Sara's friend at the tire shop.

I suspect had I called on any other night, and not on a Halloween Friday night, I would've gotten help right then; this night, however, the guy on the other end of the phone was obviously several sheets to the wind. "Just leave your car there," he slurred, "get Sara"--pronounced "Shhh-ara"--"to take you to a hotel, and I'll get you in the morning."

So, that's how I found myself spending Halloween 2008 in a Motel 6 just west of Tucson, Arizona.

I've watched the Discovery Channel commercial that I just posted about 1/2 a dozen times to help cheer myself up.

But rest assured, Halloween is still my favorite holiday.