Heading east, on my way home from a delicious lunch at Pei Wei with Dad and Ryan, I noticed the Superstitions, dusted in snow from last night's storm.
It was a real storm, the kind that blows cold, and rains all night long.
Anyhow, today the air is clear and bright, the clouds are high and fluffy, the desert is wet. There is nothing more hopeful than the desert after a good soak.
When it came time to get off the freeway, I didn't. I just kept driving: a couple miles east, until the freeway ended, and I was on the Old West Highway 60. I headed north, then east again. Somewhere around Broadway and 4 miles east of Goldfield Road, I stopped in front of an empty lot, and got out. We wandered around.
I pointed out some snake holes to Tommy. He was very thrilled but also 'scay-yerd'.
Tommy's got an extra-hard 'r', sort of midwestern-y or something. Is fairly hilarious.
I took some pictures.
Can you believe my desert? If you know the Superstitions, you know they don't ever look real. And the closer you get to them, the more they look like a mirage. Which is ironic, as actual mirages don't act this way. Out here, just a few miles from town, you feel like a character in a Louis L'Amour novel. Like cowboys oughtta ride into view, little dogies should get along, and country music will play.
But country music didn't play. I was listening to the Evita movie soundtrack. (I don't care what anyone says. I think Madonna did a fab job. And is the only time I ever liked Antonio Banderas.)
Some cute boys from Holland pulled up in an ancient maroon Buick and asked how to get up to the base of the mountains. I pointed them north and wished them luck. I didn't get their pictures. It would have been weird.
Anyhow, the Superstitions are steep and angry mountains.
Full of critters with forked tongues. And cacti that jump.
But they are very nice to look at, no?
And they are nearly in my backyard.