Saguaro National Park and Central Arizona (Day 9)

On the way to Saguaro National Park, E was surprised to learn we were a lot closer to Mexico than, say, Livingston is to Billings. I wondered: does the Nogales on the sign refer to Nogales Arizona, or its much larger twin Nogales Sonora?

Of the five national parks we visited, Saguaro was the only one where we didn't camp. Also, there is no camping in Saguaro National Park. The Park is divided into two units, with the city of Tucson intervening. We toured the West unit.

Saguaros splinter into a weird blown-apart skeleton after they die.

This one pointed our way out of the Park.

This happened a little South of Marana. 

I've remarked before that seeing names of faraway cities on road signs has always evoked in me a kind of Cassadian wistfulness. Besides San Diego, on this trip we saw signs directing us to Cheyenne, Reno, Boise, Denver, Albuquerque, Los Angeles, and El Paso.

These stack interchanges sure get piled up, though in Texas they sometimes grow five levels high.

As the afternoon ground on, we passed the Northern limit of the saguaro's range.

The climb North from Phoenix toward Flagstaff isn't kidding around. Not that it's particularly steep, but that it's an almost unrelenting slog. It's pretty though.

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Sabino Canyon (Day 8)

In Tucson we visited Sabino Canyon via tram. These are the Smaller One's pictures and explanations.

This picture has in it a picture of a tree, a picture of a roof.

A little bit picture of tram and a little bit of weed stuff, a little. That's what the picture. Is. Of.

In this picture, there is E in it, and a few cactuses in it, and of Mommy or Daddy in it.

It's a sign, and...Dad I don't want to do it. I want to play computer games.

Okay. The weird-looking saguaro is the rare cristate type.

So, anyway, Sabino Canyon was cool. Except the weather, which was hot.

Wickenburg to Phoenix to Tucson (Day 7)

We woke up in Wickenburg, greeted by the first really big cactuses of the trip. Apparently the Smaller One wasn't too happy about them.

Here either.

Besides the cactuses, another discovery was that I'd left Ludwig's gas cap on a pump back in Wickieup. We were loathe to drive an hour there and an hour back to retrieve it. Some searching told us Jan Blair & Sons Auto Parts in Phoenix was a major ACVW salvage yard which might have a replacement. 

They sure had a lot of ACVWs, including that unholy Type 3 "truck" up there, but no 1974-and-up bus gas caps.

We settled for one off a '68 Beetle instead. It's ugly but does the job for now, and cost less than $8. I'd've liked to have spent all day there. Recommended.

Next stop, the Arizona State Capitol. We ate lunch in the parking lot under this Palo Verde tree. Melissa and I experienced a lot of SoCal deja vu from all the weird trees.

The capitol is tiny. Seriously. Like maybe about twice as big as our public library back in Livingston. It's so tiny that all the state government's functions have been moved to other buildings and it's been converted to a museum. Maybe that makes it technically not the capitol anymore?

E and the Smaller One weren't impressed that whoever made the capitol-museum's timeline needed a do-over on Montana's birthday.
Onward.

Between Phoenix and Tucson we summited Picacho Pass. This is Picacho Peak, site of the Civil War's Westernmost battle. It was hot (~80F) and Ludwig was running Winter oil (10W-40), so I was nice and nervous.

But, we made it! This '78 greeted us at our halfway point, the Tucson KOA where we'd share a cabin with Melissa's sister and her sons for a couple nights.

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Day 6: Boulder Dam

The first morning of February we put the Valley of Fire in the rear-view mirror.

Las Vegas's smog was nearly unbelievable. Apparently some find this place desirable?

There's a city of ca. 1.5 million hidden in that sludge.

E objected. We sped through, on I-15 paralleling the Strip so the girls could see just how ridiculous the whole thing is.

Anyway, we had a greater desire to see Boulder Dam, aka Hoover Dam.

The dam is well-hidden in the canyon; you don't get a look at it until you're right at it.

Melissa couldn't decide whether to park in Arizona or Nevada.

I wanted a picture of me and Ludwig by the dam.

This spillway tunnel has to be able handle 200,000 cubic feet of water per second during high water times. This has happened once, in 1983. Looking at the water level coupled with the current state of the world, I'd be amazed if it ever happens again.

There was an escalator. We went to the visitor center but you had to pay like $10 a person. So we went back up the escalator.

There was a bridge that we went over later, except you couldn't really see the river out the side windows, or the dam.

Right when we took the camera out, the Smaller One dropped trou and I cracked up.

You can see the ring of how high the water used to be and how low it is now.

Final proof that Ludwig (and also some random woman, at left) was there.

The road to Kingman.

Our plan to stay at a BLM campground near California's Easternmost point was thwarted, so we headed to Wickenburg for the night.

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