When I left San Diego, I felt my adventure was truly beginning: True, I was leaving a land of over-priced everything and wacky weird politics but you must understand that, with the only exception being my college years, I had lived in California for my entire life. Now I was headed to territories unknown, not to return to the Golden State for several months. The road would be a bit different from here on out.

My itinerary for this day was to drive from San Diego to Phoenix, Arizona, and that would take a little over 6 hours.. Ever since I started planning my trip, my mom had been pretty cool about me being out on the road by myself for so long, but she made me promise both to check in with her regularly and to stop, rest, and stretch along the way.  So when I told her my plans for the day, she couldn’t help but be herself. And for those of you don’t know my mom, she is someone who is always, as the saying goes, just a “bubble off plumb”:

ME: I’m leaving San Diego for Phoenix today, Mom.
MOM: You’re driving ALL the way to Phoenix? Stop and do those stretches I showed you! 
ME: Will do, Mom. Yuma, Arizona, is the halfway point, and I plan to stop there for a bit. 
MOM: Isn’t there some movie about the 12:05 train to Yuma? 
ME: It was “3:10 to Yuma” 
MOM: I was speaking in West Coast time.  

Yes, a lot would be changing in the coming months, but it was a comfort to know that some things would not.

When I have a long stretch of road ahead, I try to find podcasts or audio books about the history of the routes I’m taking, or about the cities where I’m headed. On this particular drive, I think that might have been a mistake. If you’ve ever driven Interstate 8 along the border, the terrain goes from dry rocky mountain, to dry barren wasteland to literally miles of sand dunes, and all at 98° even in March. As I listened, I learned this route to California started during the Gold Rush after the failure of the Donner Party’s route through the Sierras. I then listened to some cowboy stories in which characters talked about the carnage along the way, lamenting over and over about their thirst, and intimately describing what happens to a body that dies in the desert. Several times I found myself taking inventory of how much water I had on board and saying a few earnest prayers to God for safety over the MINI. You can imagine after 3 hours of this, I felt quite relieved to pull into Yuma, Arizona.

I got some gas, did a few stretches (see, Mom?), and headed over to the site of the prison that the 3:10 train to Yuma was going to. It was now a state landmark and museum.

Yuma Territorial Prison: Three Interesting Facts and One Weird One 
The first fact I learned was that the city of Yuma was selected for the prison, ironically, by crook. In the late 1870’s, Washington D.C. was drafting a vast funding bill in which one small item was to be a site chosen in the Arizona territory for a federal prison. Flagstaff had the University, Prescott the capitol, so Phoenix was the obvious choice for the prison. When the congressmen took a break for lunch, the representative from Yuma stayed behind and erased Phoenix from the legislation and wrote in Yuma. When lunch was over, no one wanted to go through the monstrous bill again, so they voted to pass it, and Yuma got the funds!

The second thing that I thought was interesting was that after it closed in the 1930s, the prison became a landmark and was supported through government funds. In the 1990s, the prison was crumbling and in desperate need of restoration, but there was a major budget shortfall. So the residents of Yuma themselves raised the money to save the prison – nearly $100, 000 in two weeks. Thank you, Yuma residents! The prison was a pretty darn cool place to visit.

The third and weirdest thing was actually the first thing I encountered. When I arrived at the visitor center, I was told the prison was closing early because a wedding was being held there. That’s right… a wedding… in a prison. From the look on the my face, the ranger assured me it was a very popular destination for weddings, and people came from all over to have theirs in it. Okaaay… I passed the caterers setting up for the dinner as I went through the small museum and then headed for the outdoor cell block area. That is when I came upon the full wedding party having their formal pictures taken. And I kid you not, with the long bank of iron-barred cell doors behind them, the party posed for pictures. And right next to them on the ground was literally a huge ball and chain.

As I drove out of Yuma for the final push to Phoenix, I couldn’t help but think about all the weddings that were held there. It’s one thing to make a joke about getting hitched to “the ol’ ball and chain,” but to start your marriage off that way? And with photos that will sit framed on the mantle for years to come?

I was in strange new territory indeed.