Arizona has no monopoly on this, of course. But for me, on this scorching day in June, it is a glorious reawakening to the laws of physics. We are camped in Bullhead City, down by the river. When the sun is toasting the Southwest, it’s baking Arizona and blistering Bullhead. It is hot. The water coming into the motor home, solar heated in the hose outside, is almost hot enough for instant coffee and perfect for washing dishes. I got cooler water for drinking out of the insulated hot-water tank. One day of this is enough. Before the sun could get a grip on the day, I called Rusty from under the motor home. Her tongue was close to dragging on the ground. I packed up, pulled the plug, and headed for the town on my map of Arizona with the highest elevation: Flagstaff, at 6,905 feet. Comfortably air-conditioned but fighting a crosswind on Interstate 40, I hadn’t planned to stop in Kingman. But the exit sign read Andy Devine Avenue. What to expect from a street named for a cowboy-movie sidekick, I don’t know.
