Mini Tour

We love a good drive. While most people happily occupy themselves with the occasional show 'n' shine at the local taco stand, we can't imagine just sitting around next to a perfectly good machine. Since we break our bank accounts, plunder our children's tuition funds, and drain our beneficiaries' trust funds just to get our rods on the road, what's the use in just sitting there? After all, we build cars, right? And what do cars do best?

So when I got an invite from our buddy "Fast Freddie" Fleet to ride along on the Arizona Roadster Roundup, I couldn't pass it up. First off, it's a two-day springtime run o'er hill and dale--roughly 300 miles--through some of the most beautiful scenery the Southwest can offer during what's possibly the region's best season. The event promises good people, good views, and good experiences. It fosters a kind of friendship that lasts at the least the length of the journey and, gathering from ARR veterans, well after the run in many cases.

The sheer nature of the run separates the wheat from the chaff: only those bold or naive enough to brave a few hundred miles piloting an open car need apply. As a result, the run attracts some pretty colorful people from the hardcore fabricators to the rod world's luminaries. Each and every person on the run usually has some sort of fixation with hot rods that goes far deeper than just owning a cool car. In short, these people are pretty serious about fun things.

Traditionally speaking, a different person or group coordinates each event. This year Bill MacKenzie ponied up and planned a positively bitchin' route that took us through several of Arizona's environs. We started off early Saturday morning by heading North up Highway 87 through the hills. First off, anybody with the impression of the desert as a barren wasteland has to visit Arizona at least once during springtime. Arizona hosts foliage that, even in the unrelenting daily heat and chill cycle, looks like some sort of forest in a parallel universe. Spindly gray-green ironwood and mesquite trees shroud low-lying cactus groves. Every now and then giant saguaro, not unlike the three-pronged cacti common to Warner Brothers cartoons, juts from the landscape. By mid-spring, just after the first showers, the Arizona desert explodes as a verdant yet prickly carpet. This was mid-May. Nobody could've planned it better.

We arrived in Payson about mid-morning and just in time for breakfast. In a stroke of good planning, host Bill MacKenzie reserved a whole room in a main-street greasy spoon (he speaks our language). We had our way with all the eggs, bacon, and flapjacks we could handle. The best part: no tab since the run price included coordinated stops.

We hit the road again and wound our way into the Verde Valley and ultimately to Clarkdale. Clarkdale tells one of those neat Southwestern stories. It was Arizona's first planned community--in 1912 no less. The United Verde Copper Company pretty much owned the town, employing its locals in the nearby smelter. By 1953 mining operations stopped, thereby evacuating the town--mostly. A few stuck around, and in 1988 a private party purchased the railroad and reopened the route for passenger tours.

We boarded for a three-hour, ambling tour of the Verde Valley aboard one of the Verde Canyon Railroad trains. If we were part of the scenery in roadsters, we were definitely one with the scenery on the train. The old roadbed gently pitches and sways the cars along the track at about 15 miles per hour. The trip includes a towering trestle, a man-made tunnel, and, believe it or not, an eagle conveniently perched atop a fencepost. We saw the eagle again on the return--in the same place no less. Fred and I still say it's a motorized prop.

From Clarkdale we took off up the mountains into Jerome. Once known as the wickedest town in the west, Jerome served as base camp for the copper mining industry. By 1953 copper commerce left the town and effectively vacated the craggy hillside berg. The remaining 50 to 100 die-hard Jeromians capitalized on the town's ghost town status, and, by 1967, convinced the Federal government to designate the town a National Historic District. Today, Jerome boasts a thriving trade in...art. Some 450 locals live off of Jerome's hearty tourist and artist community. Ever hear of Greenwich Village? Well, welcome to Greenwich Gulch!

We descended the backside of the mountain and headed into Prescott for our night's stay at the Hassayampa Inn in the town's historic square. The town itself is a trip in itself due to its pre-depression construction, and the Inn's 1927 construction only enhances the flavor. Even the rooms have a quaint (small), vintage (creaky) charm that you'll find nowhere else. We wouldn't change a thing other than the smell of the Marlboro-sponsored non-smoking room we had.

The last leg on our journey took us down the hill into Wickenburg. My personal travels took me to Wickenburg exactly a decade ago, and it amazed me how much a town can grow! Wickenburg sits just west of Phoenix, so we all fueled up, bid our goodbyes, and took off on separate routes.

All said and done, the trip was better than I ever anticipated. We saw a bunch, ate a bunch, and laughed a bunch. The photos we took only prove it. We wish we had more space here to show off the photos, but alas, we only have limited space. For now, enjoy. Then make plans for your own Roadster Roundup.