Phlea market phunk

First thing Saturday I drove a half hour to the Mesa Marketplace flea market. TomTom sent me a half mile in the wrong direction. Should have been a sign. At 7:30 the vendors were just opening up. It's a huge place with a permanent roof, but all the vendors were selling new and crappy stuff. Doesn't really get busy until 9 a.m., they said.

One guy tipped me to a smaller market a few miles away. That one was way funkier but I didn't find anything. There were actually a few of the vendors I prefer, the guys set up in the parking lot with card tables. One had a Taurus stainless 5-shot snub nose for sale in .45 Colt, but the price seemed high at $450. Then I noticed another shopper, a guy in a motorized wheelchair, was packing a sizable automatic.

Don't screw with the crippled guy. I'm still looking for that perfect flea market.

A cat wandered out of one sale tent and toward another, which caused great consternation and much barking by the Scottie a few tents away. The vendor said that cat teases his dog every week.

On the way back from Mesa stopped by Bob's Motorcycle, a vendor of Harley parts down in what I would otherwise call the "Gentleman's Club" district south of the airport. As I walked in a big cat stood by the door. He accepted a bit of ear scratching from me. The lady behind the counter couldn't have been nicer, but could deal with just one customer at a time and I was just looking.

The Harleys on the floor made it almost impossible to walk around. That was OK, because my nose quickly told me the privileges of shop feline included a kitty version of the freedom of the open road: go where you wanna go.

On the way back I stopped by a car show near the ASU campus. Met a couple of guys showing their Honda CBX bikes, and got this photo of a restored balloon tire bike.

Back at the Condo, we received a visit from Heather, the daughter of Pamela's cousin Debbie, and her five-month-old daughter Ula. Wish I'd gotten a picture--what a sweetie. We had a nice long talk about Phoenix (Heather and Mark moved here from Seattle five years ago) and babies.

Pamela roasted a pork loin for dinner and we fell asleep on the couch watching a program about anacondas. During the night it rained; the gutter at the back corner of the condo, next to the bedroom, was rattling like a snare drum with the water falling three stories from the roof. I've already dreamed up a fix.

A few pictures: a shot of the front of the condo. Our unit is on the second and third floors, with windows on the left side and back over the garage. We've seen some really cool houses; here are two in our neighborhood just a block away.

Great anticipation is . . . rewarded!

Rewarded?

This is First Friday, when streets in our neighborhood are closed and galleries, bars and such are open and hopping. We headed out at 5:45 to walk down to Washington (the east-west center of old downtown Phoenix)and mosey our way back toward Artisan Village. Took the camera and a couple of $20s just in case.

Got back about 9:30 and yep, it was fun. Crowds were gathering on Roosevelt Street (which borders our condo complex on the south) as we walked downtown. This area is a weird mix of funky old houses turned into art studios, funky old houses that are still houses, small commercial buildings and empty lots covered with gravel and trash. Go south four or five blocks and you're in the midst of Arizona State University, commercial buildings and a shopping mall.

We kind of drifted through the mall until we were attracted by shiny bright lights wrapped around palm trees, which drew us like moths. Here's a picture. There were restaurants on either side of the courtyard and we slipped into Sam's Cafe, an incredibly busy Mexicanish place. Had a drink and bar snacks.

Then back north to Roosevelt, where the crowds were now thick and the music really cranking. We got a few pictures of the people and things we saw -- artwork, cute couple with puppy, and the crowd. Lots of fun. Tired now and must rest.

:^ )

Call for Dan Quail

Worked this morning, then headed 100 blocks down Central to the South Mountain Park. This rock ridge marks the south border of Phoenix and is perhaps the largest city park in the country. At the Environmental Center a humming bird flew within a yard of us, quite intent on the flowers at our knees.

We followed a ranger-led group of fourth graders down the sandy, rocky trail, then veered off toward the ridge. This, it turns out, was a Wrong Thing to Do. As the sign said (I missed it), Don't Be a Trail Blazer.

We weren't the first Trail Blazers, as we could tell from the empty cans, bottles and chip bags strewn here and there. If you visit South Mountain Park, bring a trash bag.

We hadn't walked far when I spotted a small stripey thing hustling toward a prominent rock. An irritated ground squirrel popped up atop the rock, shaking his tail and then hustling up to the next higher rock.

We heard some birds, and saw quail on the run up the hill away from us. Their behavior was understandable, but hardly Tourist Bureau material. Saw some nice Saguaro cactus. The information sheet said they don't grow arms until they reach 65 to 75 years of age. Takes people that long to grow brains.

We must have hiked for a couple of miles but saw little else on the ground. Some nice petroglyphs on the rocks beside the trail, mixed with contemporary graffiti. Did the Ancients a millennium ago shake their heads at the kits who marked turtles and snakes on the pristine stones?

Above us a pair of red tail hawks circled in the updrafts, and we listened to their calls and watched them for a good ten minutes.

The drive back north reminded me of how flat and funky much of Phoenix is. With little to restrain the sprawl (except things like South Mountain), the place has expanded everywhere. There are many vacant lots and lots of empty buildings. Maybe the north end is nicer, but central and south Phoenix are FUNN-KEE.

We battled the traffic up to a pizza parlor on Camelback called the Parlor. Debbie recommended it, and though we only had a drink we liked it. Good attentive staff and the menu looked great, with nice midcentury architecture. We'll be back.

Midcentury madness

Wynne asked for more artchitectural pix so here are some more Palm Springs shots.

A dose of reality

We walked up to the Willo neighborhood today, anticipating the neighborhood open house that takes place in another 10 days. We walked up Third and zigzagged across to Central, past Palm Lane (palm seeds are cascading down as the starlings swarm through for snacks) and up Central to a mall. Stopped for coffee, then headed a block or two west to the Willo neighborhood.

It's modest and generally well preserved, the homes 90 percent one story, with many adobe style and others with tile roofs. Ranches and war boxes (with minimal overhang). A very nice neighborhood that's separated from the main arterials so commuters can't just zoom through. Here are pix of a couple of Willo homes and a cool Inuit sculpture we saw at the Hurd Museum.

After the walk back I decided to ride my mountain bike to get stamps and envelopes. The terrain here is all flat, so riding is easy. After an extended wait for the lone clerk at the Post Office I got the stamps, then rode up Central to CVS for envelopes. Locked the bike to a rack and went in, passing a couple of rough looking characters. One ostentatiously saluted me as I passed. Got the envelopes and went back outside to find . . . no bike. The lock and cut cable were there on the sidewalk, but the Cannondale was gone.

I started the walk home and called the police. They came by the condo an hour later, knocking like the Gestapo, to take my information but they won't even file a report, since I don't have the bike serial number. They said they'd keep an eye out for it during their shift. Lotsa luck, guys.

This experience has excited my imagination.

I catch the fool stealing my bike and whip the shit out of him with the cable and lock. (fantasy)

I lock everything and check it twice. (real)

I regret using a relatively light cable, and look sadly at the U-lock I didn't use. (true)

I ask Elisabeth to mail down the New York Chain I didn't carry along. (likely)

I see the guy riding my bike down the street and by cleverly maneuvering my Astro Van manage to squeeze him against a light pole. The van's white finish contrasts with the blood. (I'm hoping)

After the officers left we decided to catch a drink and chose Portland's, a restaurant about six blocks west of the condo on the same street. Thinking we might see the bike thief, we took the van. Portlands is plain, recent and quiet. They had the feisty former prosecutor on TV. A number of regulars were there and more came in.

Allen was especially popular, and on his arrival received many hugs from the patrons. He was kind of stocky and wore a short beard. Looked like a Hugo to me.

We shared an excellent pizza and on the way out I commented that there were many regulars there. "Not really," said the hostess. "They're here for choir practice at the church next door."

"Not Baptists, eh?" I said.

"Episcopalians," she replied.

Now for some fun

We started our first day in Phoenix with a stroll across the block for breakfast at Tammie Coe Cakes. This little storefront on Roosevelt (south side of the Artisan block) has some fabulous breads, cookies and cakes for sale and does an impressive breakfast.

There's no room inside to sit but they've got a couple of small tables on the sidewalk, and a propane overhead heater. Mixed berry marmalade on multigrain bread, potatoes, bacon and scrambled eggs for $5 did the trick. We'll be back, maybe for the little cake with red frosting and devils horns.

Rolled the motorcycle and other stuff out of the trailer and into the garage and hauled the trailer down to a storage facility way down in southeast Phoenix on Broadway Road. TomTom advised us to take the freeway down, but we took Broadway back east on the return trip (for a guy seeking used auto parts Broadway is a mecca). Then we turned north on Central and rolled through the rather rough old downtown Phoenix. Much construction work going on there.

We had to get some food so we headed for the Ranch Market about ten blocks east of the condo. What a hoot! Mexican music was playing and the place was filled with brown people shopping. Mi gusta la musica Mexicana! We lunched on three great tacos for $3 and made a promise to return. The Safeway we visited next was SOO BOORING!!

Arrived at last

Leisurely breakfast (they serve at 8:30) and we hit the road . . . only to run into a miles-long backup caused by repaving work. The three-lane freeway necked down to one, and we crept along forever.

It cleared at last and we hummed along into real desert (rock, sand, scrub) and past the strange little town of Quartzsite, where RVs are scattered across the desert like huge, rectangular desert plants. It appears that all you need in Quartzsite is an RV and you're in for the winter. The town is famous for immense swap meets, but we were anxious to motor on.

As we crossed the Colorado and into Arizona we saw our first Saguaro cactus. Very impressive. Saw the roofless stone walls of an ancient house 200 yards off the freeway, with no other signs of civilization around it and miles from any other development. Saw a guy sleeping with his head on his pack just off the freeway. Where nothing grows, everything is visible.

We arrived at the condo about 5 p.m. Nice place. The condo itself is very pretty and occupies the second and third stories of the unit. There's only a small balcony at the back, but a good sized garage under the unit. We squeezed the van and trailer in for the night. At the corner of the block is a Crispy Creme and a Quiznos. We split a sub for dinner.

Having some trouble getting the wireless router working properly. The initial automatic triumph has been followed by peek a boo failures and "connected-but can't transmit" bullshit. I'm about to burn the thing down and Pamela has decided the universe has a problem.