Heading north looking for a bit cooler weather took us on quite an adventure. Perhaps adventure really isn’t the word to describe the relocation day. We scoured the maps and books we had looking for a nice place to tuck ourselves into around Prescott. Since we typically like the out-of-the-way places it comes as no surprise that we headed off on a dusty dirt road. After three miles we passed through the very small town of Bumble Bee with a population of 19 (people that is).
We continued on (and on, and on, and on) driving through such small towns such as Cleator. I loved the small Miller beer banner on the side of the road that said, “Last Cold Beer before Crown King”. If we had been smart we would have found a place to tuck in right there and feasted on cold beer. Not that I was looking for a cold beer, mind you—at least not by that time. But after the next six miles of dirt road we were all wishing we had followed our niggling intuitive voices and stopped in Cleator. It was starting to get dark and the campgrounds we sought were still six miles away on a very bumpy road when we rolled into Crown King. The only way I would describe this little mountain holler is that it had a strange resemblance to a town called Deliverance. I kept waiting to hear banjo music wafting through the pines toward Gina. My imagination ran rampant and wild as I envisioned men with brown spittle spat through crooked and missing teeth saying, “Sheeeeee-it. I done shot up better looking trailers than that one there.” I guess when you venture 26 miles into the mountains on a dry and dusty road you should be prepared for the back woods. But then, perhaps I was prejudiced by spots on the map called “Lousy Canyon” and “Fort Misery”.
We found a camping turn-out just off the road past Crown King and leveled up for the night. You can usually tell the IQ of the past campers based on what is left behind in the camp ring or behind the rocks and trees. What type of camper leaves behind a multitude of pink Playtex pushers of feminine products tossed randomly post plunging? Ick, Yuk, and all those other ishy words.
Once daylight came we got Gina the heck out of there and back onto the freeway searching for our next spot, which we found just outside of Prescott, lovely sweet funky Prescott. Full of sweet little shops and restaurants with heavenly menus.
The bartender at The Raven Cafe summed Prescott up in one sentence. “What’s to be in a bad mood about when you live here?”
More on Prescott in my next post!