[G2:1058 size=348]I hated being in Tombstone and not staying for at least a sarsaparilla and a carefully blocked gunfight, but with this being day four, I felt I really had to shift things into a higher gear. Having spent an afternoon in Tombstone a few years ago, I knew about several possible stories I could extract, but I weighed my options and decided to narrow it down to two sights, concentrating on the chapters I knew I would have trouble filling, then hotfoot it out of town like so many squirrelly men before me.
I recently discovered that the [g2link:1052]Bird Cage Theatre[/g2link] was a hot spot for spectral activity in Tombstone and set that as my first stop with a hastily arranged tour. As I was assured, it was very common to catch the ghosts of the saloon/brothel's former patrons in one's photos. Unfortunately, none seemed to admire my technique and so failed to make any appearances. Hey, it would've been tough to get a model release, anyway.
I did, however, discover a bonus item I had once known about, but had since completely forgotten. The Bird Cage, for whatever reason, is in possession of one of a small number of known mermen, otherwise called Feejee Mermaids. Here, among century-old artifacts touched by such men as Doc Holliday and Wyatt Earp, was this curious anomaly, the likes of which once made appearances in P.T. Barnum's sideshows.
My tour guide assured me it was a fake worthy of little attention — an odd thing to hear from the person who claimed to see legless boots walk across a security monitor — but you can bet the little guy will be in the running for a slot in Weird Arizona's Bizarre Beasts chapter, anyway.
[G2:1061 class=right]Then it was on to [g2link:1081]Boothill[/g2link], which was just a quick stop on the way out because (1) none of the inhabitants were talking and (2) the sky insisted I take my cameras elsewhere, like someplace the impending rain couldn't do them any harm.
Therefore, it was back on the road toward Tucson, at which point the sky recommended I not try to get any work done there, either. Turns out it's the rainy season here in Arizona, when quickly changing storms sweep across the landscape and refill the saguaro.
It's interesting the cultural differences the seasons can bring out between regions of the U.S., especially when weather meets highway. As I reached Tucson, I-10 was hit by what the locals call a "monsoon," or what we in Texas would call "rain." The drops were big and the clouds were ugly, but visibility was fine and there was no hail to speak of. But half the drivers on the road slowed from 75 to 40 and the other half panicked and pulled off onto the shoulders.
If we did that where I come from, commerce would screech to a halt come spring. Then again, we Texans fail every winter to comprehend that ice can be slippery.
The rain was, however, heavy enough and unpredictable enough that I couldn't shoot the rest of what I had planned for the day, which is why I was heading into Tucson in the first place. I decided to grab a motel room with Internet access and spend the evening researching leads and evaluating my strategy. I've felt off my game the last few days and I'm hoping a more solid plan will turn things around.
Incidentally, even though this Canyonero might make me appear less than masculine, I will admit I'm enjoying some of its amenities. For example, the specialized, in-dash [G2link:1043]tortilla-warming tray[/G2link] made an excellent snack of Tuesday's Taco Cabana leftovers.
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