Slots-A-Fun

When I was a teenager my Grandpa Lacy used to take me and my brother to Las Vegas for a week at a time. We always stayed at Circus Circus. He would play poker all day, my grandma would either shop or watch T.V. in the hotel room, and my brother and I would be turned loose to wander The Strip. I can't imagine doing that with my kids today, but that's what we did back then and it was a fun experience.

At least once a trip, Grandpa would take us to a small casino near Circus Circus called Slots-A-Fun. This was back when Vegas had all the good meal deals. There we would order foot-long hot dogs for $1. There was nothing fancy about them, but they were a good deal. Thinking back on it brings nostalgia.

Since then I have went to Slots-A-Fun with my own kids and have been disappointed to learn that they no longer sell foot-long hot dogs. Instead, there is a Subway. Definitely not as fun!

Now I have found a new Slots-A-Fun. These are found in the canyons of the Colorado Plateau and have been carved by Mother Nature over millions of years. Some of these draw thousands of visitors, while others are seldom known. They are beautiful to the eye, but lethal if caught in them at the wrong time.

These photos are of a recent hike with my daughter. They are in a "secret" canyon that is unfortunately known to way too many people. ♠

 

First Impressions of Cancún

View from our hotel balcony.

Our first experience with Cancún was bizarre, but should have been expected considering we were in Mexico. 

As soon as we got off our plane and went through immigration and entered the outer rooms of the airport, there were solicitors . . . EVERYWHERE! The first ones tried to get us to pay for a taxi or shuttle, then they talked about rentals and tour packages. They tried committing us to round-trip service and it was all exorbitantly expensive considering our hotel was only fifteen minutes away! 

I'll bet there were over 200 people waiting for vulnerable passengers to leave the airport. (We were the first flight of the day.) 

Local man selling trinkets on the beach.

We paid way too much for a taxi to our hotel. Not five minutes after getting settled into our room we got a knock at the door. It was the “concierge,” a young Mexican lady named Zulema, who asked to come in our room. She spent the next thirty minutes trying to commit us to attend a “presentation” so we could get discounts on tours and food. I was tired of it all. I just wanted to nap and then pay for what I wanted. 

That was the Cancún we walked into. Not what we were expecting. But beyond that, Cancún was a paradise. 

Swimming with turtles.  Snorkeling is one of the many activities available in Cancun.

Our hotel was the biggest and best I have ever stayed in. And right on the beach—with turquoise-blue water and fine white sand. 

We stayed in the Hotel Zone, which is a long strip of land that straddles a lagoon and the Caribbean Sea. It is lined with huge hotels, all multiple stories and many shaped like pyramids. 

After getting past the promotions and salesmen, Cancún was wonderful. It wasn't as warm as we expected, but it was December after all. When the sun hid behind a cloud and the wind picked up, it became a bit chilly. 

Sunset in Cancun.

We spent hours relaxing on the beach watching the turquoise water and people walking past. Two storks flew in front of us, circling above in the wind, then plunging in a nose-dive into the water, resurfacing in a split second and casually floating on the water. 

Even though the beach was relaxing, it wasn't without its share of salesmen. Swarthy Mexicans walked back and forth selling handicrafts, cigars and Tequilla. Water sports galore could be found all up and down the coast. Jenelle paid 1,300 pesos to be pulled by a boat and lifted into the air on a parasail. 

Jenelle on her way parasailing.

I took note that almost all exchanges on the coast could be made in U.S. Dollars, or pesos. Almost everyone spoke some level of English. I can speak Spanish, which came in handy once in a while.

Are things expensive? Mostly, yes. But very much on par with American prices. One could eat on a budget if they knew where to go, or picked up food from a grocery store. But a dinner in most of the restaurants could lighten your wallet. 

And she's up in the air!

We spent two days in Cancún, which was only long enough to get a taste. Would I come again? Maybe one more time, but I would prefer to spend my time further away from the tourist-trap resorts. 

Pros: Absolutely beautiful. Great place to get pampered if you have the money. Warm. Fun atmosphere. Clean. 

Cons: Too many pushy salesmen. Too expensive. Too touristy. Lack of authentic culture (which is lost any time a place caters to the demands of tourism). ♠

. . . and now she's way up there!!!

 

Flight Over the Grand Canyon

My beautiful and thoughtful wife arranged for me to go on a scenic flight for my birthday. We usually stay simple with our gifts, so I was surprised with her generosity. 

I've flown several times commercially over the years, but I believe the last time I flew non-commercially was in 1991 when I was 17 years old! Our wrestling team mixed up the dates of the State Tournament and when the officials called our principal to ask why we weren't there yet, he immediately recruited two pilots with planes to fly us ! Well, that's another story . . . 

This morning—in 2021—we met Eric at the Cedar City Regional Airport at seven in the morning. Eric's wife is a friend of Jenelle and he owns his own plane. 

1967 Piper Cherokee 180.

I will admit that I was a bit nervous when I saw the plane. It was much smaller than I thought it would be. The single-engine Cherokee 180 was built in 1967. It looked like a gnat compared to some of the other planes. Any bit of turbulence, I thought, would toss it around like a paper airplane! 

We stepped onto the right-side wing and through the only door. Jenelle sat in the back of the four-seat aircraft. She had almost no leg room. Eric and I sat in front with the controls, I on the left. 

A panel of gauges and buttons sat before us, with control yokes and brakes on each side. Laying on the dash was a headset for each of us. Soon we were ready to go. The thought crossed my mind that if I were to break down in my 1997 Chevy Silverado, then I would be stuck on the side of the road. On the other hand, if I were to break down in a 1967 Cherokee 180 while thousands of feet in the air, well then . . .

But there was no need to worry. Eric was an experienced pilot with several hours flying this very plane. Within five minutes the propeller was fired up and we were gliding above the houses and hills of Cedar City. 

Northern rim of the Grand Canyon.

I am blessed to live in one of the most beautiful places in the world. The mountains, canyons and desert all come together to create a dazzling landscape. 

At our maximum elevation we reached 10,500 feet and traveled 120 knots (or about 140 mph). I am amazed at the aerophysics that can keep a plane of any weight up in the air. 

The Dome.

We traveled directly south, first paralleling I-15 and then cutting across Apple Valley and Colorado City. I will admit that it was harder to see than I thought it would be. The control panel came up high in front and the view out the window was partially blocked by the wing. The sun that rose in the east cast a shadow on much of the landscape on my side of the window. 

Even though I spend a lot of time on Google Maps, it is a whole different game watching the ground from an airplane. For one thing, everything is three-dimensional, especially with the morning sun casting shadows on every little contour. I noticed mesas, lakes, valleys and ranches that I never knew existed.

Road on the southern rim of Grand Canyon.

We continued south, flying over the Arizona Strip and approached Tuckup Canyon. This is where the Grand Canyon begins. This is part of the Tuckup Corridor, which is one of a few alleyways where you are allowed to fly over the Grand Canyon. Large swaths of the canyon are forbidden to aircraft. 

The Grand Canyon is gigantic! I have been hiking in it nearly half a dozen times, yet have barely scratched the surface. Most of the space within the canyon is so rugged that it has scarcely seen a human foot. 

A rare glimpse of the Colorado River.

Mount Sinyella.

At the very bottom of the sheer rocks the Colorado River flows like a ribbon. We caught a few glimpses, but it was so deep, usually blocked by cliffs, and my view was so limited that I didn't get too many looks. 

Our flight over the Grand Canyon reminded me how much more I need to explore. There are a few trails scattered throughout the canyon, but there is so much more that has no access: mesas with no way up and canyons with no way down. 

I saw monoliths I had never seen before. White-water rapids on the river appeared as silky webs. I saw unknown canyons that I yearned to know the name of and hike. 

Kaibab Plateau and Mount Trumball.

After making a couple loops, it was time to head back. The Kaibab Plateau on the north side of the canyon is heavily forested with tall pine trees. In the distance I could see Mount Trumball. Before us again lay the Arizona Strip, not looking nearly as big and long as it does when you're driving it. 

We passed over Zion Canyon and the Kolob region of Zion National Park. It certainly added a different perspective to this land of beauty. I don't know how anyone can look at these towering white and pink cliffs without a feeling of awe. It reminded me that even close to home, there are many places I have yet to traverse. 

Mt. Kinesava (left) and The West Temple in Zion National Park.  Pine Valley Mountain in background.

Timber Top Mountain in Kolob Canyon area.

Once again we found ourselves flying over the I-15 corridor. I watched out the window at the cars moving on the freeway, the dry lake of Quichapa, the Iron Hills west of town, and all the new subdivisions being built. 

In a subtle but sure manner, we descended toward the airport which sat directly to our front. Without having to turn to the right or the left, we set our wheels perfectly and softly on the white dotted lines of the runway. Withing two minutes we had safely stopped and were now on terra firma! ♠

 

 

Sea of Cortez

My first impression was the stillness of the water. Very small waves. Shallow. Low-tide revealing a plethora of tide pools with small, but perfectly intact shells. 

Today we took a boat ride further south into the sea. Along the shore we passed white-washed beach homes, resorts, unfinished hotels, beach-goers, sand dunes and dry rocky mountains in the distance. The day was flawless, with almost no clouds and a perfectly serene surface of water. 

Jenna spotted a school of dolphins. They swam in our direction, occasionally arcing out of the water, their fins pointing skyward. As they moved closer they swam directly beneath our boat, then followed us for a short distance. 

We turned our course seaward from the coast until those dry rocky mountains nearly disappeared over the horizon. We came to another set of rocky hills, these being a small chain of islands. They were covered with sea lions and birds. 

As we turned off the engine of the boat we could hear the barking of the lions. I wondered what it was like for them to have their own little playground. They jumped off rocks, baked in the sun and whatever else their heart desired. 

We spent the next two hours watching them and exploring the coves of the islands in kayaks. My favorite experience was swimming with the sea lions—watching them swoosh within inches of my feet, but never touching! They didn't mind at all that we swam with them, treating us as if we were just another sea creature. 

By the end of the day we were exhausted. Although it felt as if we had boated 100 miles across the water, we barely scratched the surface of the Sea of Cortez. It was a healthy reminder that there are so many places in this world that I have yet to explore. 

Until a few months ago, I couldn't point out the Sea of Cortez on a map. If someone had asked to find the Gulf of California . . . then maybe. This inlet is tucked between Baja California and the main body of Mexico. It stretches 700 miles and has a maximum width of 150 miles. There are 37 islands 

It is believed that this gulf is one of the most diverse seas on Earth. An estimated 900 species of fish live here, along with 32 types of marine mammals. There are blue, humpback and gray whales that call these waters home. In addition there are sharks, dolphins, manta rays, sea lions and Leatherback Sea Turtles. On one of the islands is a rattlesnake that is found nowhere else in the world. 

All this marine wildlife is a stark contrast to the hot and barren Sonoran Desert just outside its waters. Sand dunes often flank the coast line and in some areas there grows an abundant sea of cactus. 

It was named by Francisco de Ulloa in 1539 in honor of the Spanish conquistador, Hernán Cortés. Ulloa originally believed that the gulf led to the mythical Strait of Anian, which connected the Pacific and Atlantic Oceans. Another Spaniard, Melchior Diaz explored the area extensively in 1540, including conducting a survey of the lower Colorado River where it runs into the gulf. 

A couple days later we chose a secluded sandy beach. The dunes sloped downward into the crystal clear blue water. I strapped on goggles and slowly floated on my belly a short distance from the shore, scouring the floor of the sea with my eyes. Remnants of shells were scattered everywhere, most of them white and some twirled in narrow conical twists like the horn of a unicorn. 

I swam parallel to the shore, coming up for air from time to time. When I saw something on the sandy bottom I would extend my arm—if I could reach—and pull it closer to my view. Then I would decide whether to keep it. In this manner I collected a modest cluster of shells. 

I have decided that the Sea of Cortez is a gem that most don't consider. I have only skimmed the top, yet there is an allure, a desire, to return and explore more. 

Perhaps John Steinbeck said it best: “Trying to remember the Gulf is like trying to re-create a dream. This is by no means a sentimental thing, it has little to do with beauty or even conscious liking. But the Gulf does draw one, and we have talked to rich men who own boats, who can go where they will. Regularly they find themselves sucked into the Gulf. And since we have returned, there is always in the backs of our minds the positive drive to go back again. If it were lush and rich, one could understand the pull, but it is fierce and hostile and sullen. The stone mountains pile up to the sky and there is little fresh water. But we know we must go back if we live, and we don't know why.” ♠

 

¿Sonoyta, anyone?

Holy Family Catholic Church on Benito Juarez Street.

Our introduction to Sonoyta was rather unpleasant. 

We were still within feet inside the Mexican border when the armed guard waved us to the side and approached our car. “Where do you have your pistol?” he asked in Spanish. 

“I don't have one,” I insisted. 

“Is it under your seat? Is it in the glove box?” 

I was baffled that he would assume that I tried to smuggle a firearm across the U.S. / Mexican border! Or was it just a ruse to get me to admit if I had? 

He ordered the four of us out of our car and began a systematic search. He used his flashlight to rummage through the front and back seats, and then the trunk. He found nothing, but had me worried that he would find some reason to send us off to jail, or at least fine us. 

Then, he waved us on. 

Armed guards at the border.

We didn't go far. We then parked on the side of the road of the immigration office to get our tourist visas stamped. They only let one group inside at a time, so we had to wait outside. 

A man stood outside the door dressed in full military gear, including helmet, bullet-proof vest and fully-automatic rifle. He kept asking me if I knew the price of a certain kind of pistol. I was perplexed and not sure if something was lost in translation. 

At last it was our turn to go inside. We gave our passports and tourist cards to a short brown lady who checked the details, stamped them, and sent us on our way. 

Relieved to have “passed” our entry into Mexico, we returned to our car and began driving the main drag southward. 

Immediately we passed a couple dogs and a man in a wheelchair holding out a jar. We passed an array of street shops and markets. We also noticed the stark contrast of now abundant trash on the southern side of the border. The scene bade me to stop, but we couldn't. We had to march seventy miles further. Sonoyta would have to come later. 

Stray dog.

This was the first time I had ever driven my own car across the Mexican border. I was a bit nervous. Sonoyta is a border-town that piqued my curiosity, but at the same time filled me with trepidation.

Sonoyta is a unique city. It serves as a portal for U.S. tourists coming into Mexico, as well as a launching point for illegal Mexican immigrants looking to sneak into the States. I can't imagine anyone wanting to cross illegally here as it would require an arduous walk through the Sonoran Desert. 

Sonyota is located just inside the Mexican border.

Sonoyta and rural communities to the east have become the battleground for rival cartels who vie for control of the land to move people and drugs into the United States. As a result, the city has seen a high rate of homicide and other violence. 

Before we came through, my daughter heard a story from a friend who had been driving through Sonora and was stopped by the cartel in the middle of the road. They were robbed.  

Just over a year ago, nine women and children were massacred by one of the cartels as they drove to a wedding on a dusty dirt road in Sonora. The women were connected to a Mormon fundamentalist group. Some were burned alive in their car. These people were living in Sonora and accustomed to the dangers. 

Stories like these didn't sit well with us. But you can't live in fear, and we decided the rewards outweighed the risks, so we decided to come anyway. We spent the next several days enjoying the sun and sand in a resort town well away from the border. 

Sonoyta lies in the heart of the Sonoran Desert.

Organ pipe cactus.

Fast forward five days and we were back in Sonoyta. This time we had one primary goal—to spend our remaining 1,200 pesos before crossing the border. We could have just exchanged the money, but where's the fun in that?!! 

Our first purchase came easily. There were men on the street selling asparagus, nuts and other commodities. We rolled down the window and bought a big bag of oranges for 70 pesos. 

Sonoyta is a highly militarized town. Within a minute of entering its borders we spotted six police cars, including a group of cops frisking another man. Later we saw a small convoy of military police with helmets and service rifles. 

Main road running through Sonoyta.

One of my goals was to find a certain taco shop that specialized in “wet tacos.” I knew the name of it and general location, but finding it seemed elusive. We drove up and down the street twice and tried going around the block when Jenna spotted the name of the shop on a hand-written sign. 

We found it on a side-street, with the name “Taqueria Sabas” barely visible. It looked like it was located in someone's house, with plastic chairs and tables along the outside. 

We sat down and immediately a young man came to take our order. When I asked if he had a menu, he said they only sold one thing—tacos. We ordered six of them. 

The “kitchen” was located inside the house. We waited at our table on the patio with a few other groups that looked much less gringo than ourselves. When we asked if there was a bathroom, we were directed to an outhouse a few feet away. (There was no light in the outhouse, but that which came through a small window. There was also no toilet paper and the door wouldn't open from the inside!) 

Wet tacos are a lot like enchiladas, but in the shape of a taco. Inside they have chunks of beef, onions and cabbage. A red sauce is poured on top. You eat it with a plastic spoon. They taste nothing like enchiladas. 

He brought us a simple tray of condiments that included red and green salsa, and limes. The flavor of the wet tacos was nothing extra ordinary, but defiantly unique and worth the experience. 

Wet tacos.

Next, we worked on spending those pesos. We found a hole-in-the-wall shop and bought Savanah a skirt. “Mas adelante,” closer to the border, we found another shop where we bought a couple of blankets. 

Then, with only 200 pesos left, we stopped by a convenience store and bought snacks for our trip. The funny thing is that when we went to pay, the total came to 201 pesos. I offered to put something back, but the cashier lady told me not to worry about it! 

We had one more stop. I was a little worried about this one because it took us a couple miles off the main drag. 

We drove east on Calle Obregón past homes and several vacant buildings. Many of them were skeletons. We turned right onto a dirt road and drove past an unused basketball court. 

Getting off the beaten path like we were I was worried about getting robbed or killed. Four people with Utah plates would certainly grab the attention of the cartel. 

We arrived at our destination—the cemetery. I am always fascinated with how different cultures tend to have different types of cemeteries. 

Instead of the usual rows of headstones like we see in the States, the graves here were marked with shines to the deceased. Some were bigger, like mausoleums, and others just a simple cross. 

But what caught my attention the most were the saguaro-clad hills that surrounded the cemetery. That seemed to bring the arid realm of the living face-to-face with the land of the dead. 

Saguaro-clad hills surround the cemetery.

Mausoleum at Sonoyta Municipal Cemetery.

We made our way safely back to the main part of town and eventually to the frontier. We crossed “the line” where I was stopped by a U.S. border patrol agent. Not knowing how many documents I would need to show, I asked him, “What do you need to see?” 

In a friendly, but sarcastic tone he replied, “This is the international border. I need to see your passports.” 

My wife had a good chuckle. Soon we were safe on the other side of the line. ♠

 

Sonoyta, Mexico.