So Close Yet So Far

Kartchner Caverns. Worth a visit along with Colossal Caves.

Caveat: lots of links and hyperbole.

All this talk of moving has inspired me to look more closely at the state I currently call home. Mike and I joined a walking tour of Phoenix a few weeks ago, learning not only history but experiencing the thrill of inner city living. Searching for sites overlooked, I found Kartchner Caverns and serendipitously discovered Colossal Caves in the same area.

We ran away on Easter Sunday. The extended family celebrated the resurrection together the week before. Then Baby Sis and hubby left for Hawaii, ED and Mowgli spent Easter weekend in Tucson with Blue Boy, and Big Bro. . . he never lacks for plans. It seemed a good time to explore the area southeast of Tucson.

The caverns are near Benson which is at least 30 minutes from anyplace else in the state. I found a 2-star hotel in Benson, no hotel here granted 3. Never at a loss to find traditional and novel ways to spend our time, I imagined cavern tours, hiking, writing, reading, and strolling through quaint towns exploring coffee/tea shops, bookstores, and perhaps some live music. Within a few hours the bubble had burst. Every place here is at least 30 minutes from every other place. There are no towns to stroll through. An occasional Starbucks or coffee hut but no book store in sight. The only music has been taped cowboy, not western.

We are two and a half hours from home but in a different world. The Phoenix-Tucson sprawl hasn’t reached the southern part of the state, but the town of Vail, tired of waiting, has started its own. Who are these people and why are they coming here? The desert is gray, bedecked with dry brush, and vast, the mountains in the distance assuring us that beauty does exist.

It’s cooler here, being over 1000 feet higher than Phoenix, and the air feels purer, possibility because of lack of urbanization. My plans were to drive past the Forever Home Donkey Rescue (who knew?) before checking into the hotel, but Bill Bryson reading “The Life and Times of the Thunderbolt Kid” with his American-British accent (no hint of Iowa) so captivated us that I forgot. Realizing that the donkey rescue was 30 minutes away, we decided to hit it another day and stroll around town before stopping at a patio to enjoy a drink.

There is no town. Google reported only one bar with a patio, in Tombstone 30 minutes away. I say bar because lacking not only bookstores, this area has no wine tasting rooms or tea shops. Any wine bars, tasting rooms, and vineyards are 30 minutes in the other direction, past the donkey rescue, and were not open. Herbal tea is a four-letter word. Having been to Tombstone twice, at least once too often, I wasn’t thrilled to return to the site of inglorious American history but looked forward to an afternoon chatting to Mike (‘to’ is intentional), sipping a glass of wine on a patio.

Thus I learned that ‘patio seating’ in this part of the state means, ‘if you don’t smoke, stay inside.’ The inside being a small dark room abused with old cowboy paraphernalia, the only light that backing the thousand bottles of liquor shelved behind the monstrous aged-wood bar. The patio was sparsely occupied so we took our chances. Afraid to risk wine from a bottle opened two weeks previously. I ordered an old-fashion concocted with a pack of sugar, ice, and bourbon, no soda. Very tasty and served to enhance my tolerance of the ambience. We sat on the patio of the Four Deuces, bobbing our heads less to the rhythm of the cowboy twang than to avoid what is now the rarely experienced fragrance of cigarette smoke, then headed back to the hotel.

Remember smoke? It was everywhere in the 1950s. I attended Black Hawk College in Moline in the late 60s. It was called junior college then, a holding station between high school and real college. The Hawk met in the former Moline High School on Sixteenth Street, inviting the nickname SSU, Sixteenth Street University. The building had been condemned for high schoolers but the powers-that-be agreed college students could tolerate the sagging, soggy gym floor in the basement and avoid the puddles in the corners threatening electrocution. I recall descending into a cloud of smoke concealing the masses studying the strategies of Euchre in the lower-level student lounge. This was before my 8:00am classes, greeting my friends and making my way to an adjacent room used as the newspaper office.

The only worse experience in my life with cigarette smoke was sharing a hospital room with a smoker and her family after the birth of my second child in 1974. Yes, smoking was allowed in hospital rooms.

Anyway, Mike and I got out of Tombstone before activating lung cancer cells, picked up some food at Safeway, and headed back to the hotel. The hotel pool is ‘seasonal,’ meaning not open this time of year, so there was no chance for an evening swim. We ate in our room. I think I was in bed by 7:00. 

Let me diverge momentarily. Normally I look for three-star hotels when we travel, but I have discovered that areas with few hotels often have excellent two-star accommodations. The difference is they lack restaurants or bars and indoor pools so don’t qualify for another coveted star. Just saying, if you find you must stay in Benson, AZ, consider the Comfort Inn in Benson near Kartchner Caverns. It truly is lovely with comfortable, clean rooms, large towels, and accommodating staff. I am currently eating the included breakfast. You can’t go wrong with the yogurt and hard-boiled eggs. If you insist on Raisin Bran, pluck out the raisins unless you have good dental insurance.

Monday morning, Mike and I drove the 30 minutes to Colossal Caves. How did I not know of this treasure? The setting is captivating. The hour-long tour led by Adam was fun, educational, and intriguing. These are caves, not caverns. Thirty-nine miles are known but may be only 25% of the total. Always 71 degrees, it is pleasant when not humid. And Monday was not humid. If you must stay in Benson, stay at the Comfort Inn and be sure to see the Colossal Caves.

The photo on the caves web-site led me to believe we could enjoy a tasty lunch on the patio overlooking a beautiful view. There is a patio overlooking a beautiful view. ‘Terrace Café’ is a misnomer. However, the gift shop offers an enticing array of rocks and other gifts.

Ready to hike, we could find no trails closer than 30 minutes away, and we had a timeline to meet friends later. The two-star hotel has a quiet smoke-free patio. For that matter, it has been people-free except for us. We ate supper’s left-overs on the patio and relaxed to recover from our hectic day until meeting our friends at Fat Willy’s, 30 minutes toward Tucson and 30 minutes from where our friends were buying a car. How convenient.

So this friend, I will call her Betty, has been my friend since we were 4 years old. We were the kids with the oldest parents in the neighborhood, accounting for many of our socially awkward similarities. It was commonly known Betty had been adopted. In fact, I got to know some of her biological siblings over the years. Amazingly, she and her biological older brother resembled her adoptive dad perfectly. Makes one wonder. Sorry, Betty. That said, there is nothing we hide from each other and can say anything, so we had an uplifting visit with lots of laughter, Betty’s husband joining in and Mike sipping his iced tea.

I enjoyed two old-fashions. Something about the prospect of a long evening. We parted ways. Mike and I considered going to an open mic, but it was 30 minutes back to the hotel and another 30 minutes to the bar. So we returned to the hotel, sat on the smoke-free people-free patio, and retired much too early after over-indulging on “The Office” reruns.

Now I write in the breakfast room of the lovely two-star hotel. No plans today except a couple of online appointments. Following those, we will head over to Coronado National Forest Tucson, 30 minutes away, assured of hiking there. To be prepared, we will pick up a picnic lunch on the way. We always travel with camping chairs and a small table. However, if unable to find a place to stop, we can return to the smoke-free people-free patio at the two-star hotel. Then, tonight, we can head down to Sierra Vista, 30-minutes away, for trivia at the Horned Toad. Or not.

We have reservations at Kartchner Caverns, 30 minutes away, first thing tomorrow. Taking no chances, we will pack a picnic. Hopefully a little hiking, then we blow this pop-stand. I have my eyes on the Windmill Winery in Florence, another anomaly. At least 30 minutes from anywhere but worth a visit.

Stepping out like this, I learn that there is always fodder for writing, for memories, for future conversation. When I can overcome social anxiety, I meet the most interesting people, including two new best friends, M & M from Bozeman/Gilbert. I have no plans to return here, except to meet up with Betty, and then I would opt to stay in Bisbee, a truly quaint town. I would not suggest you put this place on your bucket list but it is certainly worth a stop if you are in the area.

Wherever you go, keep your eyes open. It’s amazing what’s out there.