This fella tells me about a place, a town, where he promises me, that "wild burros" hang out and are free to roam. Didn't know whether to believe him or not, so Knuckles and I went for it.
Leaving the state of California, I headed for the northwest corner of Arizona, searching for a tiny frontier town called Oatman - where somewhere off the main road, while approaching the nearby mountains, supposedly about 25 miles up, we'll find a steep climb. The two of us now expecting to arrive somewhere around dusk. But, a real unexpected surprise came about on that last winding route, where the desert roadside had turned into a mirage of hanging, decorated Christmas ornaments - gleaming, glimmering in that last of sunlight.
We do arrive at dusk, and coming into town, a large banner was haphazardly posted - BIKERS WELCOME. And there, about a dozen of them - burros, donkeys and a few jackasses, just standing there, in the middle of a dusty dirt road, the center of town. And surrounding us, a collection of wooden, boarded-up souvenir shops, biker bars and a few small businesses - with not a single person or living soul in sight.
Anxiously, I powered the back window down for Knuckles, while we both watched and stared - where we finally deemed it safe enough to park, venture out and do a look-about. With Knuckles's on a leash, we headed straight for a nearby storefront bench seat. And there, found another small sign posted - "If you have a dog, be watchful or he could get his ass kicked". A bizarre scenario - and now both a little more spooked as darkness approached. I had put my iPhone in my back pocket to take shots, so, we both went quickly and just sat down, stunned as "they" began to approach. I had laid the phone on the bench beside me, so as not to sit on it, and not more than a few minutes passed before both of us nervously decided - best leave now.
The nearest motel was about an hour away, back down the mountain, where we eventually arrived, still shaking our heads. I unpacked the truck, fed Knuckles and went to plug in my phone - and it was missing. I had left it on the bench, on that dirt boardwalk, in Oatman.
Now it's 9:00 pm, and a little panicked, I head back up that narrow, pitch-black winding road, with visions of wandering, roaming, roadside burros and a long-eared jackass. Finally back, back now in a very dark Oatman, a totally deserted town of any form of life, I see my phone lying on the same familiar bench, illuminated only by the truck's high-beam headlights.
It may have been midnight, by our motel return, when we both finally laid down, and wishfully fell asleep. Only then, thinking back what might had become, one of the most surreal, bizarre - side-trips of my life. And over the years, I've experienced a few.
