Solace in Gray: Southeastern Arizona

Solo travel times in the state I never knew I needed

The Globetrotters community has heard quite a bit about the outdoor adventures I wasn’t prepared for.

Montserrat, The Boundary Waters, Eagle Mountain.

Well, I’m consistent. Hiking Madera Canyon near Tucson kicked my ass. Which apparently I ask for?

It’s ok though, I’m a better person with every struggle.

In 2021, I spent two weeks at a friend’s empty house in Green Valley, Arizona — located between Tucson and the Mexico border.

To set the scene — April 2021 for me meant I was living in Minnesota — feeling the effects of seasonal depression, Covid was running rampant, and because of this I had not been on a plane for over a year. I wanted to go somewhere for two weeks, within my budget, alone.

Like many, I was over it.

My friend said — “Why don’t you go to my parent’s house south of Tucson? They’ll be gone by then.”

I’d never been to Tucson. I was cold and overwhelmed enough to consider it.

For some, solo travel is a black or white concept— hate it or love it. But for me, it’s a gray area. Depending on where I’m traveling, there can be a broad spectrum of experiences when alone.

I reached out to my friends Kev and Mal, Kev is from Patagonia and the two of them met in Tucson — “what do I need to see in Tucson, where should I eat?”

I wanted to swim laps in the outdoor pools in the neighborhood — I love swimming laps outdoors, hike, eat some rad food, come home with a turquoise ring — and the rest was free from expectation.

The grays suit my first impressions of Tucson. It felt ancient, a bit crinkly, a lawless land. Dirt and rock replace grass, individual mountain ranges bordered my vision in every direction, there are roadrunners (turns out there are no anvils to be seen), and there is no body of water within a hundred miles. Coming from Minnesota — the land of 10,000 lakes, makes this fact preposterous.

I’ve been to Arizona briefly while working in the airlines, but you wouldn’t know it. Southern Arizona is a mystery to me. Instead of deer crossings there’s cow crossings. The highway minimums are 80 Miles Per Hour (MPH) and why is distance between towns marked in kilometers? I’m still in the United States, right? And why am I going through border control on my drive to get coffee?

Arizona surprised me, a place I never knew I was missing, a place I never desired to travel to. This is how the best travels begin, no expectations.

I landed at the Tucson airport and rented a car. I would be working on the weekdays so the weekends would be my time to explore. I was offered a small Hyundai-something — it’ll do.

By car

It was late April. By 9:30 a.m. the temperature reached 95 degrees Fahrenheit. I didn’t know what to do with dry heat so I would just have to pack my water bottle and figure it out.

I set my GPS to Patagonia, my friend Kev’s hometown. My goal was to arrive at his family’s restaurant by breakfast.

I made it by 10 a.m., the time difference was on my side — I was up by 5:15 a.m. every morning. I met Kev’s family, ordered chorizo con huevos, and found the last spot on the porch, accompanied by dozens of motorcycles and leather-bound boisterous fellas, maybe a woman or two, too.

Now this was familiar — the motorcycles. During my flight attendant days we stayed somewhere near Tombstone, Arizona. I remember the consistency of motorcycle engines revving in the distance. Perhaps I was in a Sons of Anarchy scene.

Seeing my friend’s family restaurant and the town that made him was significant. We still talk about it. There was no doubt in my mind that this is where I was meant to be.

I wrote postcards and went to the Post Office to send, ogled at the ancient cacti, visited the general store and a few other of the sparse buildings, then headed out of town — checking out the red rock as I went.

My destination was Bisbee.

In Bisbee, I found my turquoise ring — allegedly Navajo-made. Then I wandered. Narrow concrete entryways off of the main road led to staircase upon staircase— reaching resident doorsteps. I wanted to see how people live, what their yards look like, what they grew.

By foot

There were a few missions and observatories near the place where I was staying. Because of the pandemic, business operations were difficult to figure out. The observatories were closed, the indigenous people living nearby weren’t selling fry bread in the parking lots, buildings had visitor limitations.

I made it to a couple of the missions. One was Tumacácori, and I didn’t see a soul while there.

It was incredibly eerie as the clouds closed in. It rarely rains in Green Valley, even with these clouds I think it only sprinkled for about 20 minutes total the two weeks I was there. I found a “river” behind the mission, it was a creek by Minnesota standards — only a few feet wide.

Then, I went to the infamous Wisdom’s to have a margarita. I came fully prepared — planning to sit at the bar with my journal and book. But the bar was closed.

They were busy so I waited for a table and soon after was seated at a table for four. This is the downside of traveling alone — sometimes you can solicit some conversation, especially at the bar, but here I was at my big ol’ table, alone, feeling guilty for taking up the space with echoes of jovial banter and laughter filling my ears. I ordered a tamale and downed my margarita, looking forward to being alone again.

I had been hiking around Minnesota and Wisconsin quite a bit at that point. I remember considering routes on All Trails and thinking I needed a moderate to advanced trail. I settled for the moderate trail and OH was I wrong.

I started with Madera Canyon in the Santa Rita Mountains. The trail I chose was a gradual yet constant uphill climb. I was miserable for the first hour and could not figure out why I was struggling so much. I knew to keep going, let the momentum build, my body would adjust.

Numerous times I keeled over, panting. My mouth was a sauna, no amount of water could quench my thirst. Arizona hiking was serious business, Minnesota had failed me with its fake Eagle Mountain. I was on my own, Me vs The Mountain.

What I discovered was that I needed to come into my hike well-hydrated — I couldn’t just drink water along the way. I was most likely dehydrated from the beginning — working from a negative hydration point just to get to a place where I had adequate water for a resting heartbeat. But instead, I was climbing hundreds of feet in 105-degree heat! It’s a dangerous thing.

It was a windy day, so that meant my forearms and chest were coated with sweat and dirt. Eventually, the trail either leveled out or my body caught up.

Later, I hiked trails on Mt. Lemmon, near Rincon Peak in Saguaro National Park, and in the Coronado National Forest.

Madera Canyon was the highlight. The experience changed me.

By myself

Wildlife in Tucson is very different than what I’m used to. In my own backyard, I came upon a lizard trying to eat another lizard (I interrupted this, oops), roadrunners, quail, extra-friendly hummingbirds, jackrabbits (I think), and there were more. I had the goal of seeing a javelina but no luck.

I drove through a reservation or two while visiting the missions. Horses would roamed without fences, staring at my vehicle, curious if I knew where I was going.

I expected the region to look more monochromatic with sand and cactus, I was surprised by the color and biodiversity. The cacti were blooming during my trip — this was a sight to see. I’d also like to go during monsoon season, June through September. But I’m not sure if I can take the upwards temperatures.

Not once did I feel lonely during my stay in Green Valley. Well, maybe at Wisdom’s, but I learned from that experience then pivoted.

The 55+ community I was staying in may have impacted my lack of loneliness. I tend to get along best with folks older than me. Small talk at the grocery store and the coffee shop concerning the weather, javalinas raiding the garbage, and the sunsets sufficed.

I also received my fill of conversation during the workday with virtual student appointments and meetings. After two weeks, I wasn’t ready to come home.

In December, I’ll be going back to Green Valley. My friend and I will be staying at the same house. I plan to sit at the bar with her at Wisdoms and drink a margarita. Maybe I’ll drag her into Madera Canyon with me to hike one of the easy trails. We have to visit Antigone Books and grab fry bread from San Xavier del Bac Mission too.

This is my submission for the Globetrotters November Monthly Challenge — Gray.

Thank you to our editors JoAnn Ryan, Jillian Amatt - Artistic Voyages, Anne Bonfert, Michele Maize, and Adrienne Beaumont for your labor of love with this publication. I’ve been busy reading fellow Globetrotters submissions and you can check out more here. I won’t list them all here, but I’d like to.

Here are a couple I’m thinking about:

Michele Maize writes how her travels have changed color as she has made changes to her own life. I love reading her perspective in general, including this piece:

Krasi Shapkarova brings us on a walk with her through the grayscape of Shiroka Laka — a village in Bulgaria. The details in gray caught my attention: