Interstate 10 runs through Tucson and angles northwest to Phoenix.

Once you leave Tucson, the first spot of interest, higher than rabbit’s ears, is Picacho Peak. The peak is actually a group of peaks ringed by saquaros. For miles surrounding this congregation of precipices,there is nothing but dead flat dirt, mesquite, cactus.

At the exit to the Picacho Peak RV Resort, and an Arizona state campground, is Picacho Peak Plaza – a Shell gas station and curio shop. These knick knack shops scratch out an existence throughout the west and if you can get in and out without buying something, that will forever gather dust on a shelf at home, you are far too disciplined.

Near the front door, I am confronted by a stuffed Jackalope, a mythical American West animal that is part rabbit and part antelope.

According to Wikipedia, the Jackalope prefers whiskey as a drink, can cause a lot of damage to one’s shins, and has some basis in fact. There is a man in the Dakotas who still makes them and sells in bulk to Cabela’s for around $150.00 apiece. It is said that Jackalopes are good mimics, and, at night, cowboys singing around a fire under the stars, can hear them harmonizing.

My old T or C friend, Kirk, buys himself a candy bar for sugar energy and we hit the road for Tucson, on an expedition to a camera shop looking for a new lens for Kirk’s camera to photograph homes for sale, for Green Valley real estate agents. His photographs of my dad’s house helped us brothers sell it and keep our affairs separate.

I think I see a Jackalope waving at us, as we pull back onto the freeway, but Kirk says I am probably mistaken.

The human mind is frail.




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