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| Daytrip: Wickenburg's western history comes to live in exhibits | ||||||||||||||||||||||
| By Chris Page, Get Out | ||||||||||||||||||||||
| December 6, 2006 | ||||||||||||||||||||||
I didn’t grow up in the shadow of John Wayne movies or harbor secret “Lone Ranger” fantasies. There’s no room for cowboys and Indians in a game of laser tag. When the wee me played dress-up, it was sliding a tennis racket cover on my head and pretending I was a Conehead. You know, from “Saturday Night Live.” And historical museums? No, thanks. I’m still harboring resentment from when my folks dragged 8-year-old me on a three-hour-plus tour of Hearst Castle. For all the culture preserved, fun suffers a wilting death. So it’s surprising, then, what kind of a weird hoot one can have on a day trip to Wickenburg’s Desert Caballeros Western Museum, a modestly sized two-story tribute to Western arts and culture in one of Arizona’s earliest towns — a place that has managed to preserve its small-town charm. Here's looking at you The museum’s featured exhibit through the end of the year, “The Nature of the Beast: Audobon’s Amazing Four-Legged Creatures and More,” is a collection of art by John James Audobon, the renowned ornithologist and nature illustrator. And as exquisite as his attention to detail may be — the bristly tufts of wiry hair on the back of a javelina (“Collared Peccary,” 1884), the angelic white fluff of Rocky Mountain goats — what stands out most is how unsettling the images are: Audobon got his kicks illustrating many of these creatures in defensive attack positions, eyes staring intently at the viewer. Which means finally knowing what it’s like to get a fierce stare-down from a badger (“American Badger,” 1845-48) or an American red fox with his foot caught in a steel trap. And then you get to his “Texan Lynx” (1846), which finds the elegantly spotted creature in repose — licking, as the cowboys say, where the sun don’t shine. Past a rock and geode exhibit (where, in the back corner, rock chunks glowing under black light suggest a historical museum’s version of a Pink Floyd laser-light show), down a flight of stairs, the museum offers life-size replicas of Arizona storefronts and rooms when Wickenburg was a turn-of-the-century town. Staring into an old saloon complete with piano player in the corner, wandering through rooms of houses that bring to life memories of “Little House on the Prairie” sets, it’s a curious experience. But then there are the statues that inhabit the faux town — unsettling plasticky things frozen in often hilariously creepy positions: a young girl contemplating a butter churn; another standing astride her pony-shaped tricycle, hands raised in a “Why me, God?” expression. The womenfolk of this resurrected Wickenburg tend to look away sharply, as if hiding horribly disfigured faces. (“It’s like 'The Grudge,’ ” my companion remarks, shuddering. “I bet they come to life at night.”) Outside the museum As befitting a place where downtown sports but one traffic light, the former gold-mining town of Wickenburg is a quaintly rustic place that takes pride in its heritage. The kind of place where people idling away the day in front of a storefront entrance isn’t cliché. (Even the movie theater, with its $6 general admission price for “Casino Royale,” evokes a kind of nostalgia.) We wander around and find ourselves in the middle of a rock and mineral show. Stores sport punny Western names like Ranch Dressing (the museum-owned cowgirl apparel store) and The Pony Espresso (a good coffeehouse decorated in kitschy bric-a-brac). The Mine Shaft Restaurant, an Italian joint that stands cater-cornered from the museum, promises something creepier than phony frontier folk: a sign out front stating — gulp — “Bikers welcome.” Looking for a particular restaurant on a recent Sunday afternoon, we phone what we think is the eatery’s number; “You got a wrong number,” the woman on the other end chuckles, “but I can still tell you how to get there.” I’m not sure how 8-year-old me would have taken to Wickenburg, but 20-something me had a strangely wonderful day. Nearby restaurants
Contact Chris Page by email, or phone (480) 898-5656 |
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