... or shine; the curves don't go away!

I've mentioned before that one of my uncles worked for ADOT (the highway department) back in the mid-20s when the White Spar was under construction. He later joined the US Forest Service, working all of the forests in Arizona -- except for the Prescott. When he was with the Kaibab and the Coconino, he drove many trips from the north to visit his parents in Phoenix -- all via the White Spar. ("A fine highway," he said, "but look out for scared little old men hugging the mountainside. Extra dangerous when they're heading north -- on the wrong side of the road.") According to his oldest son, they were often delayed for hours in winter by jack-knifed semis completely blocking the roadway. I don't know just when the Skull Valley Road was paved; however, when we moved to Wilhoit in aught-81, almost all semis split off from SR89 at Kirkland Junction over to Kirkland and thence up through Skull Valley, arriving in Prescott via the Iron Springs Road. Not very many curves -- but some long stretches in grade that resulted in trucks gently sliding off the highway.

Now that you've clenched your jaws for your first two rides up the White Spar, you should be used to the curves and we can plan another trip Real Soon Now -- this time to focus on the mountain scenery. (Two other facts worth mentioning: 1) most people are not aware of it, but this highway follows the course of the Hassayampa River for most of its length and 2) my family has the distinction of two speeding tickets on the White Spar, one each for the dotter and my LH. Neither, by the way, on the stretch of road between Prescott and Ponderosa Park, which had a bad rep for tickets.)

Rainbow's edge

Oil spill has become a dirty word these past 30 years. The term conjures up videos of seals and shore birds being rescued from a sticky black, death-dealing stuff our civilization depends upon.

Yet, as a child, I always enjoyed the sight of very, very minor oil "spills"; more likely a few drops of gasoline or oil spread on the pavement, preferably wet.

I guess the automotive designers are doing a reasonably good job of sealing leaks these days, as I don't often see these little rainbow scenes on a driveway or at a gas station.

Of course, the reason may simply be our dry climate. We are, after all, warned that a rainstorm following an extended dry period may result in very slick and dangerous driving conditions.

In any event, when I see such a patch, I can't avoid photographing all those colors. But: where did the red go?

Continuing my Friday walk...

...and a new collection of small things seen. Let's begin with this truly weird Californian who appears to be part of the West Virginia Mountaineers. Huh? He got something against the Sierras? Makes me think of someone from Florida really getting into exploration of Indiana swamps.(Forgive my bad schmeer of the license plate number -- policy here is that actual numbers are private and out of bounds unless it's a vanity plate, in which case the rules change.)

In any event ... the guy with the multi-color spray cans has been out again doing his civic graffiti thing. My favorite marking this time round is the white (below) which carefully points out the very evident location of sign posts. Again, huh?

I'm always surprised when, suddenly I discover a notable item that's obviously been around for a long time. Here it is a plaque that marks the founding of the first Protestant church in Arizona; the church in question is the United Methodist on Summit and Gurley. The not so memorable coffee tin is one of several butt cans for the homeless and down-on-their-luck folk served by the church's Open Door mission.

One more door at the church.

Down the hill at the Sharlot Hall Museum grounds, something major is happening at the southwest corner, where the former blacksmith's shop (above) appears to have been gutted -- and the building that once defined the corner (below) has been replaced with a concrete pad. Again, my plaintive question: anybody know what's in store?

Across the street from the museum grounds is the backside of the Goodwin Street Plaza. Look carefully. Note those fine fat logs? Suitable for a fireplace or for a chain saw artist, aren't they. Wonder which it is? And there's another puzzle for the really sharp eye: do you see Mr. Graffiti outlined in blue (below)? I became aware of him only after I had opened the image in PhotoShop, by which time it was too late to get a really good view

Being a nosey sort, I couldn't resist a peek into the backroom of the Builders Wholesale store; they do fireplaces and such.

Finally, an update on the McCormick Place building -- it looks like one of those three million- dollar condos has been sold, leaving just two to go. I must say, speaking as a former smoker, that the sign below is a bit imperious. If I'm not mistaken, there's a law about when and where smoking can take place in front of a building -- it has to do with distance from the doors. These folk need to cool it and borrow a couple of those butt cans from the Open Door people. But that's too sour a note for leave-taking.

Instead, I'll close with this wonderful collection of sycamore seed balls against a bright blue, sunny Arizona sky.

By Granite Creek on a winter Friday

What makes a winter picture? No, snow is not necessary. The answer is simple: an absence of green. Plus yellows that have muted to a straw color. Instead, the quiet elegance of blues and browns. And denuded trees that cast striped shadows.

Even the creek side building, with at least four layers of graffiti-bloc, matches the color scheme, though the sign below shouts its orange. Exactly what are the plans for the new, improved creek side trail, by the way? Anybody in the know?

On nearby a power line, a smug lot of pigeons, fluffed up for warmth, sit sunning. Then, oops, another bird arrives and the lot of them take off. 'Tis a hawk not much bigger than any of his potential prey. (Below) An admonition not to empty your beer can into the sewer.

This electric box on a pole on the Gurley Street bridge next the coffee house almost always sports either graffiti or stickers. The current artwork certainly suggests a sad story!

More Links: Must be a lot warmer in Tucson -- Warren went to the local botanic garden and came away with beautiful butterfly pictures. Up in Flagstaff, a different matter; all about the elk caught chest deep in the snow; too bad they couldn't rescue him and he had to be put down. A happier local critter picture I found at Wunderground: a wee snake guarding a tomato in warmer times. And, finally, to put an end to the idea that Alaska is some unsophisticated backwater: pay a visit to the Yak and Yeti restaurant.

Prescott: Recovery Capital?

Prescott is widely known as one of the nation's top retirement areas ... as Everybody's Home Town ... and as Arizona's Christmas City. What is not know to most residents here is Prescott's reputation in some circles as the nation's Recovery Capital.

I first discovered this unexpected side of our town when taking cabs on a regular basis to visit my mom. The drivers would point out this or that house as a residential facility for recovering alcoholics or addicts; presumably they would know as these are sources of business. More than one said that Prescott had a higher number of rehab clients (on a per capita basis, I presume) than most cities; furthermore, that every so often we even were host to Middle Eastern princelings or other VIPs with problems.

All by way of gossip, of course. I never saw anything in print on the subject until this year. Two articles: one in Yavapai College's RoughRider and the other in the A&E monthly PopRocket (scroll down to the July issue cover). Both tend to confirm the cabbies' observations. Still, few hard numbers, though everybody seems to agree that there are more than 200 12-step meetings per week in the Prescott area and maybe 32 addiction recovery related facilities.

Whether that includes group homes is questionable. Up to eight unrelated people may live in a sober living house in a residential neighborhood without being registered with the city; however, if any psychiatric or medical treatment is involved, registration is required. Providence Place is an example of a non-medical recovery program, which houses clients in four halfway homes and four apartment complexes; Chapter 5, another sober living program, provides housing in three units.

Quite in contrast is Pia's Place, a center for women with complete psychiatric and clinical treatment. Decision Point Center, now HQ at the old Whipple Street facility left behind by Northeastern University when it moved to PV, includes an emphasis on outdoor adventures in its treatment program. And these are just a few of the programs I've found described on the web! FYI, there is a sober living house on my street; the main problem reported by a nearby neighbor is the usual -- parking.

Linkables: At the One Acre Wood, a lovely tale of a pet chipmunk. The Out West Food Review has a meal at Chi's over on Cortez. Now for a real adventure, from two points of view: hie yourself over to 1) Rich's further Airstream Chronicles and 2) Foolsewoode -- Rich and Sadira are photographing their way through southern Arizona ghost towns and Bisbee. Not only that, but Rich took a picture (and did some of his Sci-Fi processing magic) of the famous Lavender open pit mine just for me. It's great! And just for old times' sake, two collections of Chicago postcards, here and here.

I give up!

It's difficult enough to compose a clever or thoughtful blog post with a dang cat in the lap (especially when his chin heads toward the keyboard). But when he wants all the real estate available, it's nigh onto impossible. I think I'll give up for now. See you all tomorrow night!