If you have read some of my most recent posts, you know that I have been writing about my exploits and experiences after arriving at Fort Huachuca, Arizona, and being assigned to the Joint Interoperability Test Center (JITC) at Fort Huachuca. I’ve been summarizing too many of these recent posts before I get to the meat of the current post so I am going to dispense with that, and I’ll jump right in by stating that my most recent post was about an inspection and a quick trip to Phoenix, Arizona, followed by a challenge to a billboard worker. Today, I want to talk about a camping trip that I took with my wife and family and some of her friends and their families to a camping location along the top of the Pinaleno Mountains near Safford, Arizona. The Pinaleno Mountains have an altitude in excess of 9000 feet. There is a lake located at the top of the Pinaleno Mountains called Riggs Flat Lake. That lake sits at an altitude of about 8600 feet give or take a few feet. I’m not sniveling. Cuz, let me tell you, that error is a petty damn thing when you get up there and it is pretty damn hard to breathe for the sick, lame, and lazies. Now I’m not saying that most people are sick, lame, and/or lazy. But you know the old cliché – if the shoe fits, wear it. Oh, believe me. It will fit. Trust me on this, I worked in the men’s department of a swanky clothes store once. It ain’t like that glass slipper that Cinderella wore. Nope. I’m afraid not. There ain’t no handsome prince or a ‘prince charming’ waiting around the corner. But I digress. It seems like the only people that the thin air at high altitude does not affect are little kids. I wonder why that is? Maybe they’re too busy getting into mischief and causing trouble to realize that they can’t breathe worth shit. Yeah. That’s it. Anyway, there were three families planning this camping trip to the top of this mountain to Riggs Flat Lake. Don’t hold me to this, but I believe the camping trip happened over the Memorial Day weekend that year. With time off for good behavior (a training day holiday), it was actually a four-day weekend. Outstanding in the rain. The organizer and chief ringleader of the camping trip was Chief Warrant Officer Yeager. Chief Yeager was a helicopter pilot. He asked me, and the other guy, Captain Fred Wilson, if we wanted to ride with him in his helicopter while he did the training mission recon of the camping area. Captain Wilson was one of those namby-pamby legal eagle sort of guys who didn’t like to do anything if it didn’t seem totally and strictly aboveboard. As a result, he bowed out of the recon. He thought perhaps maybe the aerial recon might be just a little bit in the gray area. Perhaps it was. So what? On paper it looked all kosher and aboveboard. That’s all that mattered to me. And hey, it was a free ride on a helicopter. Especially if we rode with 2/60 air-conditioning. By the way, for the uninitiated, 2/60 air-conditioning simply means that you’re flying the bird with both doors wide open. It’s the only way to fly. Especially if it was a Huey. What’s that? Oh. That’s a type of helicopter commonly seen in your average Vietnam movie. Chief Yeager (no relation to the Air Force test pilot) said I had to come over to his unit and talk to his commander before I could go up in the bird with him. Thus, I went over to his unit to talk with his commander. As soon as I walked in the door, I recognized the old boy. He had been in the Nineteenth Support Command in Korea. As soon as I introduced myself, he said, “I recognize you. You’re the Captain that the Commanding General of the Nineteenth Support Command always used to give rides to in his bird.” I replied, “Guilty as charged, Sir.” “This is the guy you want to take up in your bird on your training mission?” Then Chief Yeager chimed in and replied, “Yes Sir.” “Approved. Have a good flight.” Well, we had an uneventful flight up to and over Riggs Flat Lake. Of the altitude and the air temperature near the lake’s surface, and then we did a recon flight of the Swift Trail that we would have to use to drive up to the campground around Riggs flat Lake. You have to drive on the Swift Trail for about thirty-five miles once you turn off of US Highway 191. But that’s not the bad part. The bad part is the last twelve miles of the Swift Trail. That road is narrow and winding. But the Ricky Ranger forest rangers forgot to mention one word. They forgot to mention that Swift Trail Road is dangerous. Oh yeah. And if you’re driving a 1990 Ford Tempo from hell that you just happened to buy in Korea and shipped back to the United States up that narrow and winding and dangerous road, hang on tight to your seats. Because you never know when your brakes are going to stop working. Did I say that the brakes were going to stop working? Cuz that’s exactly what the hell they did. It was a damn good thing that I was going up the hill and not down the hill when the brakes decided to stop working. I started flashing my lights like crazy to get the convoy of cars to pull over. I advised chief Yeager of the situation with my brakes. We did a touchy-feely of the tires on the car and learned that the left rear brake was the one causing the problems. I jacked up the car and remove the tire and the brake drum so that we could look at the brake assembly. As soon as I removed the brake drum, the brake assembly fell apart on the ground. It was toast. Crispy. Burnt hard. Smokin…, Not as in a hot chick type of smokin. No sirree. Chief Yeager and I rigged that brake assembly so that I could limp the car up to the camping area. And he and I agreed to drive down the mountain in his vehicle to Safford or Willcox if necessary, to look for brake parts to fix that one brake assembly. We set up camp while the wives went off hunting for ferns. The women came back about an hour later with a good haul of ferns. By that time, we had camp all set up. Then, Chief and I tried our hands at fishing before dark. The next day (Saturday) we went into Safford but we were unable to find any Ford parts in Safford. We had to drive all the way (76 miles) to Willcox to get any parts. Chief and I ate lunch in Willcox and then we picked up the parts we needed and headed back to camp. On Sunday, Chief and I performed a temporary brake system repair to my Ford Tempo so that the car could get us down the mountain and back to Sierra Vista. This would not be by any means the final troublesome story that we endured with that 1990 Ford Tempo. But those are other stories. That car truly earned its name, Ford – “Found on the Road Dead.” This would just be the first time that that damn Ford tried to kill me and my family in the desert of Arizona. Except, technically, that first time, we weren’t really in the desert when it tried to kill me and my family. Oh hell no. We were climbing up the side of a big ass mountain. Yeah. We were climbing up out of the desert just so that the car could kill us. Great. G – R – 8, Great. Anyway, the car wasn’t successful because it had a little idiot light on the dash panel that worked. That idiot light that flashed red said, “Brake.” My alert eyes noticed that idiot light, and with that avoided what surely could have been a much more catastrophic exercise in futility.
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Hello. Great job. I did not anticipate this. This is a remarkable story. Thanks!