For many of us 306ers that spells the end of blogging.
I remember the outrage I felt toward blogging when it was originally assigned to us months ago, but now that I look back and read through my semester, I realize I’ve grown to like the occasional blog.
My reasons for loathing blogging at the beginning of the semester stemmed from the death of newsprint being replaced by bloggers but over the course of this course and through my blogging, I’ve realized that I need to suck it up and jump on the blogging bandwagon. As a reporter, I need to get with the times and use a blog as a place to take my career to the next step, providing my readers with extras and using it as a place to show off my writing skills to any potential employers.
As for now however, for English 306, this will be my final blog post – one last attempt to salvage my lackluster blogging grade. So now, without any further ado, I give to you my Thanksgiving Day weekend in two parts:
Part 1.
We were somewhere along Interstate 10 in southeastern Arizona when the excitement began to take hold. I remember saying something like “Goddamn that was some good turkey yesterday,” to my two friends seated in the truck that was barreling down the road at 95 miles per hour.
It was Saturday and we were getting the hell out of dodge. The idea came the day before during a Thanksgiving dinner that was held on Black Friday, the day my family’s company came into town.
I had invited two of my peers from school, students of journalism and all around good people.
We had the usual affair at dinner – turkey, rolls, stuffing, yams, potatoes and a lackluster pie. All made by yours truly, besides the pie.
After dinner my friends and I left my family behind and headed out on the town. 
It was one of those nights that lands you in your friend’s urban backyard at 4 in the morning, scrounging for more firewood to burn his make shift fire pit.
“Fire is primal, man,” I remember someone saying.
“Indeed,” I said, “but we need to get out of this place.”
So after a few hours rest, there we were, headed out of Tucson in my friends pickup truck with a bed full of tents, blankets and sleeping bags.
Our destination was Cochise Stronghold, a desert and rocky range of country near the New Mexico and Mexico borders.
After a 2 hours drive, a
third of which was on dirt roads, and a near miss of two cows who were lollygagging in the middle of the road, we arrived at a an ideal campsite at the base of a large boulder.
The sky was fill of dark clouds, which had appeared to clear out all other campers. This was the Wild West. There was no room for fear of the weather or anything else for that matter so we pitched our tents and started up a fire in a fire pit that was still warm from the spots previous settlers.
Once our site was established we headed into Bisbee for some dinner and to check out the nightlife.
Once you enter the short tunnel that leads into Bisbee, you can feel the rest of the world begin to melt away behind you like ice on a hot summers day. By the time you emerge from the other side you can tell you’ve found refuge from city life in the houses and businesses that line the hillsides in quant little mining town.
We first headed to the store to load up on supplies - coffee, sausages, butter, eggs and peppers and then drove down to the historic district for chili, darts and billiards.
After shooting the shit with some locals for a good 4 hours, a third of which was spend listening to a local singer/songwriter that reminded me of a young Bob Dylan, we decided it was time to go reclaim out spot out in the wilderness where the real winds blow.
Now dark, we rolled through the dirt road leaving a giant plume of dust behind, which was occasionally illuminated by the red break lights. After passing by the road to our site two times we finally arrived at our site and began collecting wood for our fire and adding the final touches to our temporary home.
Within a short time we were all huddled around the fire and exchanging stories of work, women, religion and our futures...
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