King Copper

Sunrise west of Safford

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I left Safford Arizona, yesterday, and entered Indian country.  I came to what’s left of  Fort Thomas, which we built to protect us from the Apaches.  It’s in some way analogous to the high fence we built recently along the Rio Grande in Texas to protect us from the Mexicans, all done to provide justice and liberty for all.  Today, the Fort served me eggs over medium and offered woven baskets made by the savages we came to conquer.  

I crossed the Gila river which gives life to this entire broad and long valley.  It flooded the farms along it in 1980, but its last 15 years have dwindled in draught, bringing bitter disputes as to who has the right to limited water.

 I entered the San Carlos Apache Indian Reservation, and stopped at its Hallelujah Store in Peridot.  A young apache woman was sitting outside the store, and I joined her with an ice cream cone and can of Dr. Pepper.  Her plan for the afternoon was to catch a ride down to the river for a coming-of-age celebration for a young female relative, an Apache simile to bar mitzvah.  Other Indians joined us, and it became apparent how the store got its name.  They talked of mystic revelations within their Christian faith, about casting out of spirits and dealing with demons.  They have blended this into the old Apache beliefs.  Today, a white woman and an Apache rested here.  Both stopped in the courses of lives on different tracks.  At least one of them wondered if one course is better than the other.  Both rested and then continued their lives.   

I travel the shoulders of roads, where roads have shoulders, some clean and good for riding, some littered and cracked.  I have repaired four flat tires on this trip, caused mostly by debris on road shoulders dropped by passing loads. 

Still on Apache land, I came to its modern casino and hotel.  I went inside to its clanging slot machines and poker tables, reminded of Las Vegas.  And like Sin City, this casino stands alone in a parched desert.  I watched a woman at a slot machine, face blank, pressing buttons dutifully to the sound of electronic clatter.  Gone are the days of pulling a handle dutifully, watching the drums turn, hoping they land on sevens, the periodic jangle of coins in the winner’s trough and into her little coffer.  Today, she enters her pin number and presses keys that are harder to understand than AutoCAD.  I know this because I checked into the hotel and had to use up twenty dollars of free gambling credits.  I still don’t understand the system, but walked back to my room with five dollars in winnings.  

Cobre Valley Center
 for the Arts in Globe

La Luz del Dia Cafe
on Broad Street in Globe

Leaving the Apaches this morning, I pedaled to Globe, a hill town with a quaint old downtown and a sprawl of modernity all around it.  Globe exists because of copper and the people who get ore out of the ground and extract the metal.

Freeport McRan Copper and
Gold plant in Miami, AZ

open pit copper mine east of Miami

Copper is the king of these steep mountains and the towns of Globe, Claypool, Miami and Superior that feed the families employed by big companies.  I worked hard to get up the steep grades and concentrated hard to avoid the many trucks and cars.  

I came to rest at the Copper Mountain Motel in superior, the nicest motel I’ve had on this trip, even though some cost twice as much.