What do you mean, primitive?

The LH and I used to laugh when we came across one of these big bold signs on a county road. Our basic response was, "you don't know from primitive". As best we could tell, there was some legalism involved in the label, "primitive road". Might even have to do with the feds.

We considered these graded and drained roadways the next best thing to a black top. For real primitive, you go to the Forest Service map or the topos and try out one of those single dotted lines. Now that's a primitive road; double dotted lines tended to be somewhere in between the broad expanse below and a two track - but we could almost always make it on a double dotted line in our Sube station wagon.

When old highways die

Ther is something very sad and lonely about roadways that have been decommissioned. Northern Arizona is full of bits and pieces of old Route 66 and older SR89, if you are on the lookout for them. And they are accessible, being on federal and state land. Not so this old section of 89A recently replaced by a spiffy new 4-lane speedway between Prescott north and Prescott Valley. It's scheduled to become a part of a huge real estate subdivision one of these days when the market picks up again. And it's locked off. Twice.

Yes, that is the old railroad crossing, now the Peavine Trail, which means that if you walk long enough you can access the old road. Of course, you'd be trespassing.

What always shocks me is just how quickly the grass takes hold in abandoned asphalt. That white stripe is still pretty dang clean and yet the forces of nature and life are already breaking up the pavement, which gets other visitors, as well (below).

Really old, original road markers (above) and fairly new ones (below) are still in evidence out old 89A.

There are even remains of older roads (above). The two-track is strictly local, but the heavy cut is part of old Rte. 79, the earlier Prescott-Jerome highway, built when, of the two towns, Jerome was by every measure the more important and larger. Below, the latest version of 89A is visible in the distance.

The old road passed closer to our local volcano (Glassford Hill). Is that a blowout on the side of the mountain; I'd never noticed it before. And it offered a terrific view of Granite Mountain as you headed into Prescott.
Way lonely, right? This is the picture from my neighbor that piqued my interest in revisiting the old highway.

Heading downhill toward the Dells, the railroad crossing is barely visible in the background. Below, the road curves as it approaches the bridge across Granite Creek in the Dells. But travelling this section is a no-no, blocked completely off. Too bad.

There are times I really hate change!

Prescott Scenes: Foolsewoode and Jarart both photographed El Dia de Los Muertes; Tombo has found another of those low-key critter graffiti works, this one a squirrel; PrescottStyle is all about the great zombie celebration; an out-of-town grandmother took pictures on Mt. Vernon Street Halloween night, and Catalyst collected costumery on WhiskeyRow the same night.

Be Prepared

If we were just emerging from one of the worst winters ever, I'd say that the owners of these 4WD vehicles had big plans for driving out in the bush. One might deduce that owner #1 (above) has been stuck in a swamp (not too likely) or quick sand (much more likely). He may be planning to drive along a river at the bottom of a canyon; just hook that cable to a stout juniper and pay your ride down the cliff. Or maybe he's a Search and Rescue team member. A lot of those out in the desert and mountains; they're needed, too.

Now, driver #2 makes it obvious that a muscular jack is what it takes to meet emergencies on the back roads. I wonder what his worst experience might have been.

Putting a Stake Thru the Heart of a Road

It doesn't always result in a dead road. Frequently, when wandering the forests, you'll come across a dead stake, instead. Backroad rage maybe. "These forests belong to me. The people, not the Forest Service!" I'll admit to similar reactions at times.


Some drivers know the secret of a stake driven through the heart of a road, like the broken one my grandson is holding up for admiration. It's this -- the stake is usually on a flexible hinge & it pops back up after one drives over it. A paper tiger, that's what it is! After all, the G-Men in Green may have to drive up the forbidden lane that we the people are supposed to walk.

So it gets driven over, again and again, & finally gives out. Or, just as likely, someone slays it with a well placed rock or two.


My late husband and I did a lot of exploration in the woods hereabouts. Mind you, we had been city folks most of our lives and came west in our 50s -- we weren't in the greatest of shape. We figured that we were usually good for about one or two miles out and the same back, depending upon the terrain and the heat. So we counted upon any one of our little Subaru wagons to get us close to whatever the day's objective might be. Forest Service and topo maps were our guide.

Believe me, it can be damned frustrating (and, yes, enraging, at times) to discover, after several miles of creeping on a rutted back road, that the turn-off route you had carefully selected had been decomissioned. A stake. Or a big fat, impassible berm. All at the whim of some uniformed bureaucrat. Admittedly, we didn't kill the dang things.

Even more frustrating was to set forth on an expedition to a favorite place, only to discover that, Oops, our usual route had suddenly been declared taboo. Complete with the usual brown stake. Or a fat, impassible berm.

That's what leads to the sense of being gradually closed in -- a common affliction of older people or of old-timers in a locale. On the one hand, some less popular backroads get blacktopped -- and crowded -- while others have stakes driven through their hearts. I hate it!

Examples abound. For instance, once it was possible to drive all the way to Mint Creek from the Williamson Valley trailhead. About a mile. Today, the trailhead has been gussied up, but you have to wear yourselves out walking the dull mile to what had once been your take-off point. (We always figured that complaints from posh WV homeowners who had paid big bucks to back on the forest had something to do with that particular closure...)

And, we never got down to the Verde Hot Springs ruin near Childs, being too chicken to try fording the Verde. Yes, there had been a forest road from the West to this one-time resort. But -- it was bermed. I suspect the idea was to keep the hippies and their successors out -- a forlorn hope. After all, they were/are young and reasonably buff. It sure worked on us, however.


Here's a picture of the road that started off this rant. Yes, I certainly am able to see why the PNF wants to close it -- look at the ruts and erosion.

I can see the point of view of those who are younger and buffer -- no-vehicles-allowed keeps the crowds down and hikes more solitary. (I like my hikes solitary, too, unless I happen to sprain an ankle one mile out!)

City folks like the black top so that they, too, can enjoy the outback -- without layering their big cars in dust.

In short, you can't win!

It's the Tragedy of the Commons (a famous essay by Garrett Hardin) in a microcosm. Land that belongs to all is too often exploited by all, with a result no one wants.

Note: the AZ Fish and Game Department will hold 12 open houses on the subject of roadless areas in the forests. The Prescott meeting: 6-9 p.m. Thursday, July 20, in the county building, 1015 Fair St. All public comment must be in writing -- to avoid grandstanding, says AFGD.

If I Ran the Courier

So just what have that headline and this picture to do with each other. Simple. I've lived in Prescott nearly 25 years -- and I've never seen a feature story about all those summer camps that ring the city (15 of 'em, according to the Yellow Pages)! I'm curious about them. As history. As employers of how many people? As businesses bringing how many $ into the local economy. As a group and individually.

But then I've never seen a really good story introducing the "Tri-Cities" readers to the surrounding countryside. Skull Valley? Yarnell? Ash Fork? Hillside? Yava? Seligman?

We have business pages -- but where's the analytical story about ranching in Yavapai County as a business -- and where it is headed (aside from the developers' portfolios).

I raise these questions -- and many more -- because of the many newcomers, who should really know more about the area they have chosen as home.

Do they know that there are four important (Arizona- style) rivers in the county? Just FYI, the Verde, the Agua Fria, the Hassayampa and the Santa Maria.

Just the other day, the Courier discovered gold mining. Hey -- it's been going on out in the local boonies ever since I arrived up here in the mountains (and before, of course.) If not the paper, then who should warn folks who wander the woods that they might well run into real, genuine, gritty, bearded prospectors -- who are quite as tetchy about their claims as any character in an old Western movie. And they often pack heat.

It's funny -- there's one flavor to the town if you stay cooped up inside the city limits except for the occasional trip down to the Big City in the Valley. There's another flavor if you drive out and around on occasion, but stick to the black top. And there's yet an entirely different world out there if you'll let the car get a little bit dusty on one (or many) of those back roads.

It seems to me that one of the missions of the local paper should be to introduce people to the wonderful area where they are now living. Maybe the staff of the paper need to be introduced themselves!