Here’s a story for you, but it has nothing to do with Alabama – it’s not that kind of Mobile. We’ve been having some amazing, record-breaking weather lately. For the desert in mid-May, here’s what that means – yesterday, our high temperature for the day was 68 degrees F (the normal high is in the low 90s). There were even snow flurries atop nearby Mount Lemmon. It’s been crazy-cool for more than a week now, and I’ve been taking advantage of it by getting out and doing a bit of climbing.

I set out from home on a mostly cloudy and very windy morning and drove 70 miles to reach the town of Maricopa, Arizona. There’s a particular street in mid-town that I needed to find to continue west out to the desert, but I had some difficulty locating it. The main drag heading northbound through town was backed up forever – someone told me that all traffic stops at a level crossing for trains passing through town on the main line of the Southern Pacific Railway. The backlog finally cleared and I was on my way.

Several miles later, an event occurred which almost cost me my life. I was driving along the 2-lane highway, and starting to slow down to turn left. A large garbage truck was right behind me and was also slowing when he saw my left turn signal flashing. I had slowed to15 or 20 mph and was just about to make the left turn – I looked in my rear-view mirror and saw a pickup truck barreling right towards me in the other lane, passing the garbage truck and me. He hadn’t seen me and my flashing turn signal because the big garbage truck hid me from his view. At the last moment, I stopped my turn, stayed in my lane and watched him fly by at 65 mph in the other lane just a few feet from me. I was stunned – my heart was pounding as I realized that if I had actually started the turn, he would have hit me on my driver’s side at full speed and certainly killed me and probably others.

I headed south into the desert, following several dirt roads in Mobile Valley. The valley is named after a spot along the railroad line called Mobile (there’s not much there – an old cemetery and a school – kids must be bused in from quite a distance.)  As I continued south, I entered BLM land – the Bureau of Land Management administers over 12 million acres in Arizona and I’d be on their land for all of my climbing today. Several miles in, as I neared the mountains, I came upon this, which is shown as “ruin” on the topo maps. The walls are made of rocks which have been cemented together, and it doesn’t look like it’s about to fall down anytime soon.

Shortly after the ruin, I came upon this warning sign – I never did see where this supposed shooting range was, but it made me realize that this is certainly the wild west.

One of the gates through which I needed to pass was this one – the sign is unique, the first of its kind I’ve ever seen.

My goal today was to climb 4 different peaks, spaced closely together. Here is what I saw as I parked for the first one. My goal was the one in the middle.

It was a short walk over to its base, and a quick, easy climb up its west side. On top of Peak 1860, I found no evidence of any previous visitor, so I built a cairn and left a register. To the east sat the high point of the Booth Hills, a known and outrageous lookout spot for one of the Mexican drug cartels.

I also had this great view south down the Vekol Valley.

Once back down to my truck, I drove a short distance and parked by the road for the next one. As before, I walked over to the base of, and up to the summit of, Peak 1980.

This one was no stranger to visitors – a total of 10 had signed in to the register before me. Here are a few of them.

It was an easy return to my truck, then a short drive north to my third of the day. This time, the objective was something called Mobile Benchmark. At the risk of sounding like a broken record, this one was also a short walk across the desert and a quick climb via its west ridge.

I found the benchmark with no difficulty, at 1,920 feet elevation.

For some reason, I figured that this peak would be way off everyone’s radar, but I was in for a surprise. Plenty of others had been here before me, six in fact, but the register entry that most surprised me was this one.

Obviously Mexican, they had boldly climbed this small hill on their way to the promised land. I’ve only seen indocumentados do this a time or two before, so it’s a rarity. Something else caught my eye from my perch atop Mobile – no less than 4 dirt airstrips in the Mobile Valley nearby. Either several pilots live here, or they’re expecting a lot of visitors with planes, or ???? If I were to see something like this out in the desert in Mexico, those airstrips would definitely be for a different purpose.

Once down the peak and walking across the desert floor, I came upon this survey marker. It denotes the boundary between Sections 20 and 21. As you can see, it was placed way back in 1915.

When I was almost back at my truck, out of the corner of my eye I saw a truck approaching. The driver saw me and came to a stop on the road nearby. He looked as surprised as I, and got out and walked towards me. He was a ranger for the BLM, a member of their law enforcement team. When I told Jay that in all my years of roaming the desert I had never seen a BLM ranger, he wasn’t surprised. He said that in all of the lower 48, there were only 100 of them, and only 2 in Arizona. He said his territory extended from the Navajo Nation in the north all the way to the Mexican border!! We shared stories of our desert adventures, reminiscing about drug busts that had taken place in the notorious Vekol Valley a few miles to the south.

He offered me his business card with contact phone numbers and invited me to contact him any time if I came across anything untoward. In addition, he said he wanted to give me something to memorialize our meeting, and this was it. It’s a bit hard to read, so I’ll transcribe it here for you. Here’s what it says: “Operation ROAM: Reclaim Our Arizona Monuments. United States Department of the Interior. Bureau of Land Management. Sonoran Desert National Monument     Ironwood Forest National Monument”  I am proud to carry this crest, as I climb extensively in both of these monuments.

I thanked him for keeping us safe; we shook hands, wished each other well and drove away. A few miles of driving north brought me to a lesser dirt road which I followed east for a while, then parked for my final peak of the day. As I was readying my pack, something didn’t look quite right with my right rear tire – it looked a bit low. I was parked in a bad spot, so I quickly backed up a bit into an area more open and suitable for changing a tire – it was deflating fast. Then the fun began.

Here was my situation. The temperature was no more than 80 degrees F., so luck was on my side – the last time I had to change a flat out in the desert was in 101-degree heat. I was parked on flat terrain, so that was also good. I carry 4 short lengths of 2x4s in my truck at all times to help me jack up the truck. I surveyed the scene and got all of my tools ready. I cranked the spare tire down from beneath the back end of the truck and rolled it off to the side. Its air pressure was good, but even if it weren’t I had a tire inflator with me that operated off of the cigarette lighter – I could add air pressure to any tire as needed. I placed my bottle jack on top of the 2x4s and under the jacking point. Then I loosened all of the lug nuts and took them off. Next, I started cranking away on the jack and raised the truck up so the tire was off the ground. I took the flat tire off and set it aside. So far, so good.

I haven’t mentioned yet how strongly the wind was blowing – it had been picking up all day, and now was gusting at 30 and 40 miles an hour. It was so strong that at one point it shook the truck hard enough that it slipped off the jack and the wheel crashed down and sunk into the dirt. Let me tell you about the dirt. It was as soft and fine as talcum powder. The shaking of the truck had worked the 2x4s into the dirt and de-stabilized them. Now I was in a real fix.

The frame of the truck, my jacking point, was now down so low, so close to the ground, that even without the 2x4s I couldn’t fit the jack under the frame to jack it up again. Now what the hell to do? I got a cold drink out of my cooler and sat back and took stock of my situation.

The first thing I had to do was to stabilize the truck so it couldn’t move. I dug a trench into firmer soil big enough to set the 2x4s down, deep enough that I could set the jack on them and under the frame. I then raised the truck up as high as I could. Even with that, the wheel was still so low that there was no way I could fit the spare on to the bolts. I had no choice but to dig a deep hole under the wheel, deep enough that the spare could be put in place. I had to keep digging the hole deeper and deeper. It took several attempts of trying to fit the spare on to the bolts until I finally had the hole deep enough. The tires on my truck are big, way bigger than a car’s tires – the size is 31 x 10.50 R15. I don’t know how much they weigh, but I know I can’t lift one on a rim over my head. Thankfully, I always carry a shovel in the truck. I dug like a determined badger, and finally, with the hole over a foot deep, I was able to mount the spare. I tightened up the lug nuts, then set the piece of carpet I always carry under the wheel for times when I need extra traction.

Then I lowered the jack, removed it, put the truck into 4WD low range in reverse, said a silent prayer and started it up. It worked – with a mighty lurch, the back end lifted out of the hole – I was free!

After an hour and a half of wrestling with the situation, my get-up-and-go had got up and went. I had no enthusiasm for that 4th peak, even though it sat tantalizingly close by. Licking my wounds, I decided I needed an extra-large shot of my drivin’ whiskey. That done, I made my way by degrees back out to pavement and home. It was a pretty good day – perfect weather, 3 peaks climbed, and no harm done with the flat tire – a happy ending.