Westward Bound and Determined

Leaving a lot of open nothing behind us, we pointed the Camry west. The next stop would be the granddaddy aircraft museum of all of the southwest; the “Pima Air and Space Museum” in Tucson.

Now, Tucson is only about an axel greasin’ from Santa Teresa so we were there fairly soon. However, after touring Juarez and the “War Eagles” museum, we were a bit behind times; as in….we pulled up to the “Pima Air and Space Museum” just exactly at 5:00 PM. What do you do when you miss one of the premier aircraft museums on the planet (aside from wiping a tear from your one good eye?). You drive around in circles taking pictures through the fence, that’s what! OK…so we looked like chickens running around in a room full of June bugs. So what? We still got a ton of great pictures of planes that I had never seen in person. They even had a late 1940’s Northrop F-89 Scorpion and an old Douglas F3D Skynight for crying out loud! Good stuff.

I had always wanted to get a gander at an F-89 Scorpion. It was one of America’s first all-weather interceptors along with the Lockheed F-94 Starfire. It’s big, it’s, ugly, and it’s beautiful (but only to its mother and to an avid wing nut). I built at least one model of it when I was just a fledgling wannabe airman. With the seat covers only mildly soggy, we were off for the next adventure in Arid-zona (sic).

That would be the next Super Wal-Mart, of course. I lost count of the Supers we hit but, let me tell you, there were still a few that didn’t get knocked over by the Clarence Cleaners. For the uneducated, a “Clarence Cleaner” is someone who hits the clearance racks and cleans them out. I think we’re still unpacking some of the stuff. Hey; how can you pass up a clean new shirt that fits and has all the buttons for about 1.87?! The windows in the Camry were under a bit of a strain but remained integral despite our efforts to shove them out onto the road with the clothes we stuffed in the back.

And, of course, when you pass through Tucson, you can’t help but pass by the Davis-Monthan AFB. That just happens to be where the USAF stores a LOT of airplanes until further notice. I was certain that they were not only closed, but that they wouldn’t allow a wing nut with a rubber neck to wander around loose on the premises. We tooled on down the highway.

Before long, we were in Eloy. Eloy is the place out in the middle of nowhere in between Tucson and Phoenix. There’s big truck stop, a couple of motels, and a couple of burger places all grouped together. We fueled up and were on our way with me telling Connie about the time cousin Ross Sanders and I were there in his truck. That was the time I was playing “Homer” and trying to learn to keep a big truck between the beer cans a couple of years ago.

We stopped for the night not long after. The next day would be Thanksgiving and we were ready to track down a dead turkey. Stay tuned.

Airplanes Galore!!

It didn’t take all that long to find the Santa Teresa, NM aircraft museum. It did take a few extra minutes for the driver of the car to rectify his perceptual blocking while driving. Seems he missed the HUGE sign that said to turn left to go to Santa Teresa. That’s a small penalty to pay for all the fun we were having yakking and drinking Diet Pepsi.

Connie’s brother, Steve, had turned us on to the museum. He had been there and was favorably impressed enough with the place to recommend that we stop by. It’s not possible to imagine the surprise that greeted us as we pulled into the parking lot of the “War Eagles” museum. Sitting all alone but hardly forlorn was a gorgeous Tupolev TU-2 twin engine Russian bomber from WW-2.

I had never ever thought about actually seeing one of these big babies in this lifetime. My only hope would be to go to Russian and track down an aircraft museum and ogle one there. This twin engine work horse had been passed to the Chinese who wore it out until some years ago when they retired it. Some enterprising American then found it in the land flowing with rice and noodles and brought it here. Bully for him!

We gladly paid the few odd shekels required to bribe the guards and waltzed about snapping pictures of more planes than we had seen since Old Kingsbury. After getting our fill of the place and all the super-neat airplanes, we wrenched ourselves out of there and begrudgingly commenced the next leg of the trip.

Not far down the pike, we saw a sign that we couldn’t ignore: “Tombstone 22 mi”. I had wanted to go to Tombstone since the early 1960’s when I watched the TV series of the same name. Now, it was only a few minutes away. Connie and I discussed the matter and determined that it was still our day off so we elected to turn left and see the place where the Clantons (I think that could be “the Clintons” but pronounced with a southern drawl) were ventilated by the Earp brothers and Doc Holiday. It ruined their entire day. A couple of them weren’t around to pick up their Fingerhut order.

Just prior to getting on into town we stopped at the famous “Boot Hill” cemetery. There were lots of dead folks there. Many of them were notorious and others were just dead nobodies. It was quite interesting to read the epitaphs and to view the desert from the hill on which the cemetery was located. The folks who ran the place were most hospitable which made the event a real super stop.

When we got fully into town, we could hardly believe that the place was still an old west town! The streets were still dirt covered and horses were allowed to walk around and make them dirtier. Even the sidewalks were wood and some of the storefronts had hardly changed in 100 years! One crushing blow was that the site of the OK Corral was completely enclosed and you couldn’t get in without paying the equivalent price for about two tickets to Disney World. That was a certifiable “Bummer Dude”. I just dragged my broken heart on around to the “Tombstone Epitaph” which is where one of the most famous of all newspapers was published. In fact, that was where the early 1960’s TV series was centered around. Cool beans!! .

They even had stagecoach rides, a cowgirl on horseback, lots of high-priced food, and a one-man-band hammering his tunes out right downtown. This is the part where Connie gets to interject a few things. “Hey, Connie. Wanna add a few things?”. Yep..she does.

Now, I was quite sure that “Captain Sweetie” would neglect to relate the story of his instant stardom on the streets of Tombstone.

It happened like this. As we strolled down the wooden sidewalks admiring the little shops, we happened upon a man, dressed for the period, with a tambourine strapped to his knee and playing a banjo. Along the sidewalk he had a group of simple instruments such as one might find in an elementary classroom. Randy handed me a ribbed something or other with which I only needed to run a dowel across it somewhat in time. Good luck, I thought to myself. Randy chose the spoons.

Now, only days before while we were in Texas at my brother’s, it had been suggested by John’s wife, Linda, that she and I should learn to play the spoons. (reason being that John and Randy were both so musically gifted and we were not). The “Spoons” I envisioned banging two tablespoons or larger together making some kind of acceptable sound. But to my surprise there really was an instrument called spoons and it looked to me like a set of measuring spoons. Captain Sweetie jumped right in playing his instrument against his leg. It was so neat! As the men played (and I beat my sticks) people began to gather (a lot of people). When the song ended the people cheered and the little banjo player and the crowd wanted Randy to continue. In fact I am convinced that they might have offered him a contract. But alas, humble man that he is, he declined and moved on down the street dragging me with him. I really thought we should stay and I would volunteer to be his manager. Oh well, such is life with the “R” guy. He makes me soooo proud.

There are still more “happenings” to experience on this trip so hang around for the next one.