Quick Exit

At first light, I skedaddled out of Prescott as quickly as possible.

Headed straight for Jerome, perched 5,000 feet up in the Black Hills of Yavapai County, Arizona.

Back in the late 19th century, Jerome struck gold—literally. Gold, silver, and copper were discovered, and overnight the town turned into a bustling mining hub. But, like most get-rich-quick stories, the wealth didn’t last. By the time they finished plundering the earth’s goodies, the mining shafts were so deep they nearly tapped into sea level. Then, in the 1940s, disaster struck when the wooden beams deep in the mine caught fire. The blaze spread through 30 miles of tunnels, burning for about a year. They eventually snuffed it out the hard way: by shutting down the mine and flooding it. Talk about a dramatic finale.

These days, Jerome is a charming tourist town filled with great eateries and artisan shops selling all kinds of creative wares.

 

Jerome High in the Mountain

 

But let me give you the inside scoop—Jerome is just the appetizer. The real gem lies about 1/8 of a mile further up the mountain in the old ghost miners’ town. It’s a collector’s paradise, packed with more rusty relics than you could shake a wrench at. I’m talking old vehicles, tools, and even the original dentist’s shack, complete with its chair and rusted dental equipment, all sprinkled with a healthy coating of Arizona dust.

 

Care for a quick check-up?

 

And then there’s the main attraction: Don Robertson.

I arrived early, paid my $4 Yankee dollars, and had the place to myself when I bumped into Don. Turns out, he owns the whole thing. Don’s not just the proprietor—he’s a racing car driver, master mechanic, and a walking history book rolled into one. Seeing I was the only guest so far, he gave me a private tour.

The place is a playground of old machinery and engines, including a WWII submarine engine he still fires up to power enormous buzz saws. Yes, you read that right—a submarine engine. Forget Jerome; Don’s ghost town is where you’ll want to spend your day getting lost in a mechanical Neverland. When you’re done, head back to Jerome for a late lunch and some window shopping.

Rusty Tanker

Gas Pump

Once a Great Ford

Population at Don's place

The Man Himself with his racing car

 

Don Robertson

Explains Don's Racer

On second thought forget Jerome, go straight to Don’s place and spend the better part of your day being lost in Neverland.  

After Jerome, I hit the road for Sedona. Let me tell you, Sedona might just be the most beautiful city in America. It makes Santa Fe look like a dusty old barracks. The red rock landscapes are breathtaking. I didn’t have much time to linger since I was racing daylight to get to Horseshoe Bend, but if you visit, plan on staying a couple of days—it’s worth it.

 

The outskirts of Sedona

 

Does Your backyards view look like this?

After Jerome, I hit the road for Sedona. Let me tell you, Sedona might just be the most beautiful city in America. It makes Santa Fe look like a dusty old barracks. The red rock landscapes are breathtaking. I didn’t have much time to linger since I was racing daylight to get to Horseshoe Bend, but if you visit, plan on staying a couple of days—it’s worth it.

 

Majestic Arizona desert, on the way to Page

 

As I approached Horseshoe Bend, my heart sank. The northern end of the Grand Canyon was cloaked in haze so thick it looked like a scene from Portland, Maine, during a foggy morning. Fortunately, Horseshoe Bend wasn’t as bad—still a bit hazy but not nearly as discouraging.

 

Horseshoe Bend

Now, if you have vertigo, this is not the spot for you. 

To really take in the Colorado River, you’ve got to get uncomfortably close to the rim. Even I was hesitant. Meanwhile, busloads of fearless tourists were gleefully teetering at the edge, snapping selfies like they were auditioning for a daredevil show. They reminded me of the Mohawk ironworkers in Quebec—fearless when it comes to heights.

One family stole the show. Dad had just picked up a shiny new Canon camera and tripod, and I mean just. How do I know? Because he didn’t even have a camera bag. His kids and wife were lugging the lenses and the boxes they came in. The kicker? His Manfrotto tripod still had the price tags and instruction labels flapping in the breeze. There he was, lying flat on his stomach at the rim, tripod extended as far as his arms could reach, with the tag dangling in every shot. I’d bet my last dollar that when he gets home, every photo of the bend will feature a cameo from that Manfrotto tag.

Honestly, the people-watching at Horseshoe Bend was almost as entertaining as the stunning view of the Colorado River.

Still, standing so close to the edge of a crumbling limestone canyon gave me the heebie-jeebies. It’s beautiful, yes—but it’s also a constant reminder that nature doesn’t mess around.

More to come…