Scalped at the Grand Canyon?

On our way from Arizona to Las Vegas, we realize we will be passing close by the western rim of the Grand Canyon, where the new Skywalk has recently opened. Richard and I have never seen the Grand Canyon, so we decide to take advantage of this opportunity. Skywalk is a glass walkway that takes you right over the canyon. Apparently it makes you feel like a bird or a giddy bighorn as you look straight down.

It's on Native American land and lots of people tell us we'll get "scalped".

"They'll charge you $30 each just to park there," says one fellow traveller.

"It'll cost you at least $100 each to visit," says another.

The first traveller is wrong, the second is about right. But it's worth every penny. And hats off to the Hualapai nation for doing something apart from opening another casino on reservation land. The first delight is the drive from Kingman to the Grand Canyon West. The road is deserted two-lane blacktop for most of the way. We glide through arid desert with Joshua trees and dramatic rock formations. For about 5 miles the road is rough but they are working hard to pave it and soon it will be smooth and easy.

It takes us maybe 90 minutes and we arrive at a strange white pod. A guard tells you where to park. You go to the pod and buy your ticket. For $45 you get the Skywalk, a shuttle to Guano Point and an optional free excursion to the Hualapai Ranch with a cowboy lunch included.

The shuttles are big air-conditioned buses spaced about 15 minutes apart, so no site becomes too congested. We are here on a Sunday in November. Sunday is actually a good day to visit. It's one of their quiet times, because most of their visitors are from Las Vegas and tours usually leave on Saturday and arrive on Sunday.

Richard suffers from vertigo and opts not to do the Skywalk, but there's plenty for him to do while Jennifer and I step over a 4000 foot precipice. He visits an Indian craft shop and finds me a medicine bag, one of the things I wanted to find on this trip. There are also replica Indian dwellings that you can go into.

Jennifer and I put our backpacks, purses, cameras and binoculars in the free lockers provided and go up a ramp to the Skywalk. They give you little paper slippers to put over your shoes so you don't scratch the surface. This is the same reason you can't take your camera or binoculars. People might drop them and make the glass less transparent.

For me, the giddiness comes not from looking straight down, but from the view out over the rail at the Colorado river miles below, and a helicopter the size of a gnat flying along it. If you have an extra $70 per person you can take a helicopter ride from here. They take off almost every ten minutes... and this is a quiet day!

We catch the shuttle bus to Guano Point five minutes away, and I find this even more breathtaking than the Skywalk. It's almost deserted and there is no rail at all on the precipice. You could plunge right over if you wanted. A pair of ravens are soaring and diving above the void and brave souls peer over the edge to see the the rusted remains of a car sent over the edge for a movie (not Thelma and Louise).

You can have a coffee here at Guano Point, and there are restroom facilities as there are at the Skywalk.

To get to the Ranch you go right back to the ticket pod and catch a different bus. It takes less than ten minutes and brings you to a fun replica Western town with humorous signs and gravestones in the cemetery. At the Trading Post we have a lunch of chicken, corn on the cob and coleslaw (you can have ribs and baked potatoes if you like) and iced tea or soft drinks. The lunch is mediocre but it's a fun setting.

After lunch, the three of us wander over to a card dealer. I want to ask him about the finer points of Faro, a popular card game in the period my books are set. But it turns out he is more than a dealer. He does card tricks. He gives us the best magic demonstration I have ever seen. Jennifer writes her name on a card and he does all sorts of impossible things with it. I'm trying to look for sleight of hand but this guy is GOOD! His name is Mark Crow and he's Vegas quality. No. Better.

Outside in the beautiful November weather (78 degrees and blue sky) I stike up a conversation with cowboy Steve who tells me about a famous celebrity who lives on the Ranch, Norman, the steer from the movie City Slickers! (Read more on my entry Meeting Norman.)

After looking around the ranch a little more, we get the shuttle back to the ticket pod and pick up our car. Las Vegas is only an hour or two away, with the Hoover Dam and its new bridge on the way for a convenient break.

So would I recommend a visit to the Hualapai site of Grand Canyon West?

Definitely. Getting "scalped" was never so fun.

Meeting Norman

A week before we set out on our Dude Ranch Road Trip, Richard and I watched City Slickers. It's a fun film starring and co-written by Billy Chrystal about three middle-aged men who go on a cattle drive from New Mexico to Colorado and "find themselves". Sadly, it's a bit too crude in places to be a suitable family film, but there are some great lines in it.

For example:

City Slicker One: We're doing great, guys! We're driving them!
City Slicker Two: Ah, that's perfect! We're lost but we're making good time!

Or, after a leather-tough cowboy dies, someone says, "The man ate bacon at every meal... You can't do that!"

Or, my favorite: "Hello boys. I thought I'd mosey on over here. You know, I've never mosied before..."

There is also a great cow in it. Halfway through the drive, Billy Crystal's character, Mitch, has to help a cow give birth. ("This was NOT in the brochure" and later: "Hey! I made a cow!") Although a puppet calf was used for the scene, the scene of a newborn getting to his feet is real. And when the newborn is cleaned up, it's the cutest calf you've ever seen. He has a caramel colored hide and big, liquid, chocolate-brown, long-lashed eyes. Billy Crystal christens him "Norman" and becomes his surrogate parent. At the climax of the film, Mitch risks his life to save Norman. He even takes the cute calf back to New York. Heck, Norman even appears in City Slickers 2!

When we visit the Skywalk at the Grand Canyon, our ticket includes a shuttle to Guano Point, which is also spectacular - and to Hualapi Ranch. You can actually stay in cabins at this ranch and go for horse rides right along the Western rim of the Grand Canyon.

When we get to the ranch on Sunday lunchtime, it is almost deserted. Two "gunslingers" are hanging around, waiting for enough people to justify a little gunplay. I get talking to one called Steve and he tells me there was a famous movie star living here at the ranch. "Only he's retired now," says Steve.  "He's quite old, nearly 18."

"Who is he?" I ask, excited. I love movies.

"Did you ever see the film City Slickers?" asks Steve. "Do you remember Norman the steer, who's born on the cattle drive?"

Norman! Norman the cute calf, now all grown up and still beautiful is here on Indian land!

Steve takes me to see him in his private pen. Norman is napping. He looks contented and just as beautiful in old age as he was as a calf.

If you ever get a chance to visit the Grand Canyon West Rim, be sure to mosey on by Norman's pen and say "Howdy!"

Saving Burros

"Burros are smarter than horses," says Art DiGrazia of the Happy Trails Wild Horse & Burro Refuge in Ridgecrest, California. "They always know where to find water in the desert, if there is water to be found."

Jennifer, Richard and I left Death Valley at 10.30am this morning. We drove south along the foot of the Panamint Mountains and out past Trona where there is a Borax works still in operation today. As we pass the navy airfield of China Lake, Jennifer spots a sign with the word "burros".

We follow the sign and come to one of the biggest burro refuges in the world. In the last century 49ers went to Death Valley hoping to strike it rich. Many brought their burros. But lots of those prospectors left a few years later - deeply dejected - and didn't bother to bring their burros out; they simply abandoned them. Over the past century a huge feral burro population has grown up in Death Valley as well as other parts of the USA. There are also wild mustangs running wild. The horses and burros have no natural predator and for this very reason they can become too numerous and suffer in the wild.

Art DiGrazia has been helping rescue burros and wild mustangs for nearly 38 years. He tells us the sad story of 64 burros who recently died of thirst in the desert because of a drought. The Happy Trails Wild Horse and Burro Refuge tries to prevent such tragedies. They capture burros, treat them, vaccinate them, brand them (in a humane way) and finally find good homes for as many of them as possible.

Art tells about his work as we watch a cowboy on horseback lead some cute burros to the barn to be freeze-branded. The lucky burros will be adopted by a person or persons who must show they can take good care of them. After a year's probation, the Refuge sells the new owner the burro or wild horse and they live happily ever after.

There are two beautiful black burros from Tonopah, Nevada in a pen with a frisky mustang. In my series I intend to give P.K. a mustang to ride. Those burros are cute but they wouldn't go as fast as that frisky mustang. In the Wild West, you want a fast horse to get away from bad guys.

"Are burros really smarter than horses?" I ask Art.

"You bet," he says.

"I was going to give the 12-year-old hero of my new Western series a mustang," I say to Art. "Do you think I should give him a burro instead?"

"No," says Art. "Mustang."

"Good," I say. "That's what I thought."

But it's nice to hear it from an expert.

For more information on the Happy Trails Wild Horse & Burro Refuge, visit their website www.blm.gov/wo/st/en/prog/wild_horse_and_burro.html

Roadrunner & Coyote

Two years ago in Death Valley I had my first encounter with a coyote in the Furnace Creek Inn parking lot. He was less than a car length away looking furtive and blasé at the same time.

Today I have my first encounter with a roadrunner in the same place: the Furnace Creek Inn parking lot. There it is, spotted by my sister Jennifer, also known as "Hawkeye" because she has an instinct about critters and signs.

(If we were 49ers on a wagon train, she would have been the scout. Without her I would have been a pile of bones bleached white in the desert. I never look at signs. She always does.)

'Look!' said Jennifer, as we are backing out of the Furnace Creek Inn parking lot after a quick look at the pool and gardens. 'There's a roadrunner.'

And sure enough, there it is.

The night before Jennifer spotted two coyotes loping across the desert, lit by our headlights.

Later that day we go for an afternoon horse ride out of Furnace Creek Stables. My ribs have pretty much recovered from my four days of horse riding at White Stallion Ranch in Arizona. It's nice to get on a horse again. Hilda is a lovely mare, responsive and good-natured. (I wish I'd had a horse like her at White Stallion.)

The three of us start happily through the dusty late afternoon Death Valley landscape.

Our wrangler, Luke, points out a coyote. Jennifer is the first to spot it. I hope we might see some more, but for the next hour: nothing. No coyotes. No rodents. No birds. The desert is full of dust and silence and lengthening shadows. I love it.

We are almost back at the stables when suddenly our horses are running off the path. My first thought is: 'Maybe we should have opted for helmets...' My second thought is that Jennifer's big gelding, Atlas, bit my mare Hilda on the rump.

'Pull them up!' cries Luke. 'Pull them up!'

Hilda is running toward a fallen mesquite trunk and she is over it before I can react and pull back on the reins. But I am safely over and we are all three still astride our horses. Hilda and the other two horses come to a stop. Our hearts are pounding.

'What happened?' said Jennifer.

'A coyote came out of the sage and spooked Richard's horse, Chief,' says Luke.

'How do you know it was a coyote?' I ask.

'I saw it over my shoulder,' says Luke.

We are all three flushed with excitement from our unexpected and short-lived fast ride.

'Did you see me jump that log?' I ask, still a bit breathless.

'Actually,' says Luke, 'Hilda just stepped over it.'

'Oh,' I say.

But we are all pleased that we survived our few seconds of excitement.

Later that evening, after the sun goes down, we go to a viewing platform near Furnace Creek Golf Club, which Luke tells us is a favorite haunt of coyotes. Once again, Jennifer is the first to spot one loping across a green to join his two friends.

So the tally for the last twenty four hours is Coyotes 7, Roadrunners 1.

Not a Cowgirl

White Stallion Ranch is gorgeous but it has proved to me once and for all that I am definitely NOT a cowgirl. Or even much of a tomboy. 

I am definitely a City Slicker. A Dudette. A Couch Rider, not a Horse Rider. 

I just got passed for a "fast ride" but my ribs were so sore that I released Bailey into the wild. 

So instead I opted for the three hour hike up Mesa Verde the following morning. Made the mistake of wearing my boots, which were actually fine for the first hour or so. I managed to avoid the twenty or thirty species of cactus all out to get us. But then we started climbing. The mountain got steep and slippery and our guide Karen (above) told me I'd have trouble going down. It's always harder going down a mountain. I began to have qualms. Then when my left boot started rubbing my heel, I had some more qualms. The other five members of our party (all stiff-upper-lip Brits) said they were happy to go on, but when I saw what we were in for I said: "I don't think I can do this." 

Yes, I wussed out. 

Totally. 

(But here is a secret. Almost every member of our party quietly thanked me afterwards.)

Still, I now know I am better off being a writer in London than a tomboy cowgirl. 

Guess that means I'll have to change the name of this blog. 

Chewin' Tobacco

One of my goals on this Western research trip is to find a spittoon. Why? I think it will be a great way to engage children and get them thinking about how the olden days in Western America were different from modern times. It also has the Ew! factor, which always helps. 

When we go to Old Tucson Movie Studios I keep an eye out for a replica spittoon in the gift shops. One of the shops looks as if it might just stock such an item. 

"Do you sell spittoons?" I ask. 

They don't, but another visitor to the shop - Steve - looks up with interest.  He wants to know why I'm looking for such an object. When I tell him, he admits that he chews tobacco. He pulls out a pack of 

"What's it like?" I ask. 

"Like smoking a cigarette," he replies. 

That doesn't help me. I've never smoked.

"What was your first time like?" I ask. "Do you remember it?"

He nods. "I was sick." He pulls out a packet of Red Man. "Want to try some?"

For research purposes, I really should. Generously he lets me take a pinch. It is soft, dark and moist. 

"Put it between your gum and your cheek and DON'T SWALLOW," he says. "It might burn a little."

I put a raisin-sized chunk in my cheek. "Is that too much?" 

"No, that's fine. That won't kill ya."

It tastes sweet. A bit like what? Licorice? A raisin? A bit of both? 

I don't swallow, but when I begin to feel a tingle I go outside to spit.

No spitting on the boardwalk, so I find a dusty place behind a cactus. 

For the rest of the afternoon I have a tight head and feel a bit burpy. But luckily I'm not sick. 

A few hours later I feel like myself again. 

Why anyone would do this, I'm not sure. But at least I can say I know what it's like...

Oh, and I am still on the hunt for a spittoon.

Do I like Riding?

Over dinner on our first night at White Stallion Ranch, co-owner Russell True comes around and asks who will be going on the slow ride the next morning. They like all new arrivals to go on this first slow ride so they can assess your proficiency level.

We duly sign up for the first slow ride and also for lessons at 1.00. I guess Mark Bedor's promise that White Stallion Ranch will match you with the perfect horse only if you're not an absolute beginner. If you are a greenhorn your horse needs to train you. On our ride the next morning, my horse stops to tear at creosote bushes, Jennifer's nips at the horse in front and Richard's drags his heels.

But it's wonderful to ride through the desert at 9.00am when it's still relatively cool. This first jaunt lasts about 90 minutes. When we get back our rooms are all clean and made up. Lunch is BLTs and lemonade, then off for our lesson with Virginia. The three of us are together and there's a bit of a wait because she takes us one at a time.

I have been assigned Bailey, a 21 year old bay with a white star on his forehead. He's a trooper but often sighs deeply. He knows I am a dudette. Jennifer gets an ornery sorrel called Mesquite. They have a love hate relationship: Mesquite loves to nibble horses who invade his personal space and Jennifer hates it when he does that. But she decides to stick it out and not request a new horse. Richard has a lovely gelding called Greycloud who has an almost Zenlike calm. "He's a sweetie!" I say. "He's a slug," remarks Jennifer dryly. Whichever way you want to interpret it, Richard and Greycloud look great together.

Following our lesson is an optional outdoor seminar with head wrangler Carol and the prettiest Palomino I've ever seen, a two year old gelding. Carol demonstrates Frank Bell's method of gentle training with its seven steps: 1. bonding, 2. take & give, 3. intimacy, 4. the dance begins, 5. desensitizing, 6. ballet on the ground & 7. ballet in the saddle. She demonstrates all except the last one. It is fascinating to see a real expert bond with a horse. She doesn't just blow in the Palomino's nose, she rubs his eyes, ears and even gums! I'm not sure I'm ready to rub Bailey's gums.

At 4.00pm on Mondays is something called "team penning". The three of us sit on bleachers and watch how it's done. The best team of four includes a ten-year-old boy named Tom from England who's been coming here to White Stallion Ranch for four years. He puts us all to shame.

Over the next few days it's a variation on the same format: Russell comes round charmingly while we're at dinner and puts us down for rides and/or lessons. (It's amazing the way he and all the other wranglers know the names of all the guests. When the White Stallion is full this is about 85 people!) There are other excursions that don't involve riding, like nature walks, hikes and hay rides, but the main point of coming here is to ride.

I'm still not sure how much I like riding; especially after a very slow ride up into the desert on Tuesday afternoon, for wine and cheese. After our second lesson, my bottom bones hurt and the balls of my feet are hot from "keeping my heels down". Most of the others love it, but to me it feels very tedious. (I preferred a nature walk Richard and I did that morning.) But I'll wait till lesson 3 and my first "fast ride" before I decide whether horse riding is something I could learn to love...

Old Tucson Studios

It's around noon on Sunday, October 31st, 2010. My husband, sister and I are staying at the luxurious Dude Ranch near Tucson, Arizona. But on Sundays the horses get a well-deserved rest, so we decide to take a short excursion.

We head south from White Stallion Ranch, heading for the Old Tucson Movie Studios. We pass through a beautiful desert landscape, full of dozens of species of cacti. The most impressive cactus are the iconic ones with upraised "arms", called saguaro. They give their name to this national park. Apparently a saguaro cactus does not even grow arms until it is about 75. Some of them are hundreds of years old. It's a primitive landscape, evocative of half the Western movies I've ever seen. I half expect a band of Apache to appear over the nearest ridge. We are so busy looking out for John Wayne or Clint Eastwood that we overshoot the Studios by a couple of miles.

This turns out to be serendipitous because it's lunchtime and we stop at a cafe called Coyote Pause. It's in a small strip mall which is holding a Doggie Flea Market. You can buy doggie beds, doggie cushion covers, doggie outfits and treats for dogs, etc. Dogs are in attendance, dressed in their Halloween outfits. We have salad and iced tea in a sunny annex, then head back towards the studios.

It's off season, so not too crowded. There are only thirty, maybe forty cars in the parking lot. Main Street of the western town looks strangely familiar. Outside Phoebe's Café, a tour guide called Jeff tells us why this place looks familiar: about fifty famous Western films were shot here. After Jeff's tour finishes, we watch a staged shoot-out in the street and a "bawdy theater" in the saloon. Both are good fun.

The studios close at 4.00 and we're on our way out when the mini steam train blows its whistle. It's a kiddie ride but nobody else is around so we furtively climb on. We are the only three passengers. Today is Halloween, so headless horsemen and Freddie Krugers lurk in the shrubbery. They aren't so scary under a blue sky and golden sun. Apaches would be better, but it's a great ride.

A few miles down the road from Old Tucson Studios is the Sonora Desert Museum. Late afternoon is the perfect time to go. The setting sun backlights cacti and trees. A small collection of wildlife is just waking from their siestas. We see two mountain lions, one of whom is playing with his blue ball. A black bear is still groggy from his nap and the mule deer shows us his tail. Inside the reptile house we see lots of snakes, tarantulas and other creepy crawlies. Only the Gila Monster is staying in his burrow.

On the way out a sign warns us not to feed the coyotes.

White Stallion Ranch

White Stallion Ranch has a shuttle which can pick us up from our hotel near Tucson airport but not until 1.15. Arghh! It's 9.15 and we have precious hours in Arizona, don't want to miss a minute of it. So we bite the bullet and decide to get a taxi. It'll cost us $80+ but the Ranch has a rental car waiting for us and it will buy us three precious hours.

Our Armenian taxi driver speeds us on the freeway past downtown Tucson and we exit near Twin Peaks Drive. Over a ridge and we are in a desert filled with dozens of different species of cactus. The jagged brown mountains look familiar from a dozen Western movies. We nearly miss the turning down a dirt road. No sign of the ranch, just cactus but it's only about half a mile until we see the corral with horses on our left.

Jackie and Gabriel check us in and Jackie gives us the tour of the ranch. It exceeds my expectations. Stables, pool, shop, a lounge and bar with horse saddle barstools, outdoor and indoor dining areas, landscaped grounds with every cactus and tree species labelled, etc, etc. I love it! Jennifer, Richard and I are sharing a capin. Jennifer gets one part and Richard and I get a suite. But it's OK because her bathroom is bigger than ours. We can open the doors between the two sections if we want, or keep it closed for privacy.

And ah, the smell! Horses! (Though you can't smell them from our cabin.) Today is Sunday: the dude horses' Day of Rest. So all is peaceful. Birds tweet, a donkey brays, and although it's 80 degrees a breeze and the dry air makes it feel like 70.

We've got a black car with an authentic layer of cowboy dust coating it. Jennifer does the paperwork while Richard buys cowboy hat and gloves in the shop. Then we hop in and are off to Old Tucson Film Studios and the Desert Museum...

North of the Border

It's 9.00pm, the mercury is nudging 90 degrees fahrenheit... and it's nearly November.

We have just arrived in Tucson, Arizona.

The name "Tucson" – pronounced too-sawn – is the English spelling of a Spanish version of an Indian name meaning "at the base of the black hill". Tucson is also known as "The Old Pueblo". Only 60 miles north of the Mexican border, this state is famous as being the setting for lots of western movies. You know. The ones with dramatic rocks and iconic cactus, like Red River, 3.10 to Yuma (both versions) and Tombstone.

I'm here to research my new series, The Western Mysteries. My books are set in Nevada but we have come here to spend a few days at one of the best Dude Ranches in the world, the White Stallion Ranch.

They say you should always have a goal, so here are five things I hope to achieve while here.

1. learn interesting facts about horses (including how to ride them)
2. learn a few Indian tracking skills (my main character is half Indian)
3. buy a real or replica "medicine bag" like the one my character wears
4. buy a real or replica spittoon for my future school events
5. learn how to kill, skin and cook a prairie dog.

OK, that last one was a joke. I don't even know yet if there are prairie dogs out here. A visit to the Desert Museum should answer that question.

P.S. Sunday morning... Just went for a walk. Lovely sunrise over the mountains.

The Dude Ranch Abides

This Saturday my husband Richard and I are flying to Tucson, Arizona to spend a few days at a Dude Ranch. The White Stallion Ranch was recommended to me by journalist Mark Bedor. I met him when we were both standing in line for grub at the Cowboy Festival at Melody Ranch, waiting for an outdoor screening of High Noon. Mark told me I absolutely had to visit White Stallion Ranch if I ever got the chance. So now we are.

When I tell friends we're going to a Dude Ranch they mostly know what I mean. But some don't. That got me thinking. Why "Dude Ranch"? The word "dude" makes me think of Bill & Ted, or The Big Lebowski. But when the word "dude" was first coined in the 1870's, it meant a well-dressed (i.e. rich) city-dweller. According to Wikipedia, the King of the Dudes was a gentleman named Evander Berry Wall. (right) I don't know about "well-dressed"... His coat looks like a bell-jar swallowed a kilt and then burped up some clown buttons. But at least his shiny stovepipe hat matches his patent leather shoes.

So a "Dude" is essentially the opposite of a cowboy. And a "Dude Ranch" (AKA Guest Ranch) is where affluent city dwellers go to "get the Western experience". Today in the US, there are over 100 quality Dude Ranches. You can do full-on cattle drives and squat in the sagebrush, like Billy Crystal and his pals in the fun 1991 film City Slickers. ("Hello boys. I thought I'd mosey on over here. You know, I've never mosied before...") Or you can sit by the pool sipping strawberry margaritas and watching horses from upwind. I think the White Stallion Ranch will be somewhere in between.

The folk at WSR are certainly trendy. They tweet regularly and they are gratifyingly active on Facebook. When I asked them if Richard really truly needed boots to ride, they said any leather-soled shoe with a heel was OK, but boots are best. When I asked if he should buy them here in London or at Boot Barn in Tucson, they said buy them in London. Especially after they found out about our trendy boot shop on the Kings Road in Chelsea.

The wryly named R. Soles (say it out loud) sells fab boots designed by Judy Rothchild and others. You can either go to their shop or buy online. I bought a pair of boots there two years ago in anticipation of a Thelma-and-Louise memorial road trip with my sister. Jennifer and I didn't drive into the Grand Canyon, but we did spend an hour file-riding in Death Valley at sunset. We booked a short session at the glorious Furnace Creek Stables. Everyone there was very nice and professional, but the moment I swung up into the saddle, my mustang knew I was a dudette. He stopped to munch tasty sage whenever he felt like it and ignored my firm prompts to get moving. We were only there for a few hours, so the wranglers didn't have time to teach us anything.

Next week, however, I hope to really learn to ride a horse, not just sit astride one in my designer cowgirl boots. Richard is coming, too, and my sister Jennifer will meet us there. To see how the three of us get on, watch this space.

Western Mysteries!

Virginia City in 1862 is a glorified silver-mining camp on a barren mountain with a landscape like a singed cat. Seething with miners below ground and hustlers above, it’s a deadly place.

When 12-year-old half-breed P.K. "Pinky" Pinkerton arrives in Virginia City – homeless, penniless and hunted – things don’t look good. But armed with a Smith & Wesson seven-shooter and a knack for disguises, P.K. takes on gamblers, dancing girls and desperados.

Pinky’s dream is to work for the Pinkerton Detective Agency in Chicago. But there is so much crime in Virginia City that soon the town has its first detective: P.K. Pinkerton, Private Eye.

Western Mystery #1 - The Case of the Deadly Desperados 

Virginia City, Nevada Territory - September 1862:

When desperados kill the preacher and his wife in a small frontier town, their foster child P.K. is forced to go on the run. P.K. must get a valuable letter to the Recorder’s Office before anyone else can get their hands on it. It’s not easy: Virginia City is full of gamblers, hurdy girls, saloon-keepers and gunmen, all of them on the make. But there are possible allies: Sam Clemens, the new reporter for the paper; a gambler called "Poker Face Jace"; a derringer-packing Soiled Dove, and a Chinese photographer’s apprentice named Ping. Will P.K. survive and go on to solve more mysteries? H-ll, yeah! There are sequels. 

Chariot Winners!

Replica by Roman Glassmakers

In a bid to raise awareness for Colchester's Roman Circus restoration appeal, local school children were invited to enter a competition to either write a mini saga in 50 words, or design a new version of Colchester's famous chariot beaker. 

Here are the great winning entries of the mini sagas:
(remember, only 50 words allowed!)

A Day out at the Circus by Ceri A, Gosbecks Primary (1st)
The wind was rushing past my face as my snow white horses galloped at light speed. I could hear the chants of the crowd. I could smell fear in the air. I looked up, the finishing line was so close I could almost touch it. There it is! Yes! Winner!


A Day out at the Circus by Joseph K, St. Teresa’s Primary (2nd)
I’m in Camulodunum. My bones shaking, waiting for the start of the race. I could smell the blood of the previously unlucky charioteers. The quadrigas were off. Already I was needed, I ran forwards, hoping not to get hit, as the crowd shouted, “NAUFRAGIUM”. I picked up the unconscious slave.


A Day out at the Circus by Jessica A, Highwoods Primary (3rd)
I Augustus of Gaul, great chariot racer took part in todays race. The emperor was giving a gold laurel wreath to the winner. My horses flew into the lead leaving my wrecked enemies in pieces. As I received my prize the crowd cheered me on as if I was a god.


A Day out at the Circus by James T, St. Teresa’s Primary (Runner up)
I waited for the race to start. I could feel the tension rising. My hooves were raring to go. The fans’ cheers could be heard all across the track. The race started, my mane flew back. The sand spiralled away into the distance. I had won and was basking in glory.

Great stuff!

And here are the winning beaker designs:

My fave is Jasmine's (detail below) for its bold lines, grinning and shocked gladiators (yes, gladiators sometimes battled in the Roman circus) and the wonderful metae (turning posts) found at either end of the spina. I also love that although Jasmine really looked hard at the beaker, Crescens becomes Creschav! lol. Well done, Jasmine! Well done, one and all!

For an exciting story that puts you right in the middle of the world of Roman chariot racing -- and tells you what naufragium means -- get The Charioteer from Delphi. Don't take my word for it. Read Juliette's review on Pop Classics Blog!
:-)

Caroline Lawrence Author Interview Nov 2001

[For the first unit in the literacy file of the LCP Literacy Schemes of Work - 'Stories with Historical Settings' - based around the Roman Mysteries series.]

Caroline & friend at Ostia in 2000

An interview with Caroline Lawrence
by students from class 4F at Charlton Kings Junior School following her visit in November 2001

Caroline is writing a series of adventure stories set in Ancient Rome. Each of these Roman Mysteries involves four friends who set out to solve a whodunit. The books are original and very easy to read, with pacy plots we have found very exciting. We invited Caroline to our school because we had used her books to learn about Ancient Rome.

Q: Why did you decide to write about Roman Ostia?

A: I first went to Ostia on a school trip when I was 16 and I have always remembered it. When I decided to write a book for children I chose to set it in Ancient Rome. The port of Ostia seemed ideal because the characters could arrive from and sail to different places, like Nubia the African girl who reaches Ostia on a slave ship.

Q: Your characters are very realistic. Do you get your ideas from people you know or are you inspired by something else?

A: I grew up reading Nancy Drew mystery stories. I wanted a heroine who was really clever and brave, just like Nancy, but I knew if she was 17 years old in Roman times she would already be married with children because they married so young. So I decided to make Flavia, my heroine, ten years old. Sometimes, though, I make up characters, like Lupus the homeless beggar boy who is mysteriously mute. But I have to admit, when he loses his temper and storms off he is a lot like me!

Q: There are many dogs in The Thieves of Ostia. Why is that?

A: Although I had a pet dog, I used to have nightmares about dogs when I was quite young. Dogs can be scary. I had the idea for The Thieves of Ostia when I heard a dog barking in the night and I wondered who might be creeping about. That got me thinking about my story. 

Q: You have some great mysteries in your books, like when Bobas the dog has his head chopped off. What inspired you to write them?

A: I had in my head the image of Cerberus the three-headed dog from Greek mythology, and I wanted to weave that story into my story. 

Q: One of the most gripping cliffhangers in your book is when Flavia is hanging from a tree with wild dogs under her feet. How do you plan and write such exciting cliffhangers?

A: I write a chapter outline first and I always try to end with a surprise. Then, if you are reading my book in the bathtub, you find the water has gone cold before you put it down!

Q: You have written two books already. How long did they take you to write and get published? Have you any plans for more books?

A: I seem to be getting quicker at writing my books. My first book The Thieves of Ostia took two years to write and get published, but The Secrets of Vesuvius only took one year. I have written books three and four and am busy on book five at the moment. I have also planned the sixth book which will be called The Twelve Tasks of Flavia Gemina.

Q: Do you hope your books will be turned into films?

A: Oh yes! They'd have to be animated films, like Toy Story, because you couldn't use real actors. You see, each story takes place a month apart so the child actors would grow up too fast! It would be impossible to make six films in six months. The films would probably have to be PG certificate because some parts of my stories are quite scary. But I wouldn't want them to be gory. 

Q: You write lots of interesting stories. How do you think of them all? Did you start writing at school?

A: No! I didn't write at school but I did read. I still read lots of books and watch television and good films. I get my ideas from them. One of my favourite authors is Gerald Durrell and I also love The Narnia Chronicles by C.S. Lewis. I think that without knowing it, you keep all the stories in you and one day, when you write, they all come out. 

Q: What is your biggest tip on writing?

A: I think my biggest tip would be to write for 10-15 minutes each day, as regularly as you clean your teeth!

Q: Where do you write your books and do you listen to music while you write?

A: No! I have to have complete quiet while I write but I do use music to inspire me. I have a piece of music for each of my characters. When I am gathering ideas I walk around London with my Walkman on, listening to music. Then I rush back to my desk which looks over the River Thames and write my ideas down before I forget them!

Caroline Lawrence was interviewed by children in 4F at Charlton Kings Junior School, Cheltenham, Gloucestershire. They have used the Roman Mysteries in their Literacy, History, and Drama lessons and would recommend them to all Junior-aged children who are keen to learn about Ancient Rome and like an exciting read.

[Seventeen years later, there are 17+ books in the Roman Mysteries series. These are perfect for children aged 9+, especially those studying Romans as a topic in Key Stage 2. They exist in hardback, paperback and Kindle. There are also audiobooks and DVDs of The Roman Mysteries TV series. Since this interview, Caroline has written the Roman Mysteries Scrolls for younger readers, the P.K. Pinkerton Mysteries, two re-tellings of Virgil for dyslexic teens and four-book series set in Roman Britain called The Roman Quests.]

Sam & Flavius Clemens

One of Mark Twain's favorite books was Suetonius' Lives of the Caesars. According to Twain's biographer, Albert Bigelow Paine, he carried it around and read it until his very last day.

Near the end of the book, Suetonius tells how the Emperor Domitian put to death many people including his own cousin Flavius Clemens, a man "below contempt for his want of energy." (Latin "contemptissimae inertiae...") In the margin of his well-thumbed copy of the book, next to the name "Clemens" and the words "want of energy", Mark Twain wrote "I guess this is where our line starts."

This is amusing because:

A. Mark Twain's real name was Sam Clemens
B. Mark Twain was famous for his want of energy.

Huck and Jim enjoy a delicious "want of energy"

Buried Alive?

or "The Case of the Bleeding Corpse"

In the winter of 1861, failed prospector Alf Doten was living in Milpitas, California, trying to be a farmer. The following year he would leave the Bay Area and head for Nevada to give prospecting one last try. He would fail again at prospecting but would end up as a newspaper reporter in Virginia City. Now, over a hundred years after his death, he is moderately well-known as a chronicler of Nevada History. For Alf Doten was a methodical diary-keeper, and the treasure he left was over 75 leather-bound diaries documenting fascinating aspects of daily day life in the old West. They have been edited and published in three big volumes (above) which I first discovered at the B Street B&B in Virginia City. The Journals of Alfred Doten (1849 - 1903)

I have been going through Alf's journals to get period details for my new Western Mysteries. Two days ago, I had reached November 1861 when I came across a couple of entries that chilled my blood.

Nov 5 - Campbell came this AM & got my pick to dig a grave - Miss Abby Nash died this morning around 9 oclock, of typhoid fever... She was 17 yrs old -

Nov 6 - Cloudy - Morning I rode Ben to Peacock's - learned that Miss Nash is to be buried at 10 AM - rode home - hitched Ben & Poncho to wagon - got ready - David and I rode to Peacocks - Took Mrs Peacock & Annie and a gentleman friend of theirs on board - drove to Nash's - friends & neighbors had assembled - Mr Barquay from Berreyessa officiated as clergyman - he read from the Bible, prayed, exhorted & we sang a hymn to the tune of Wyndham - four of us brought out the coffin & put it in Jim Smith's spring wagon - She looked very natural - procession moved to grave which was dug over next the fence on the line between Nash's and Valpy's farms - a very lonely out of the way place - opened the coffin that all who wished might take last look at corpse - her head was not properly pillowed so that in crossing the rough field I heard it knocking against side of coffin, and a large quantity of blood came from the right nostril - I helped lower her into the grave - funeral over - drove round & left our Peacock passengers & drove home - This funeral was got up on the very cheapest possible scale, and cost old Nash very few dimes - quite a saving -

What sent a shiver through me was this: I had always understood that corpses didn't bleed. As I re-read the entries, a few phrases seemed to jump out of the account: "she looked very natural" and "a large quantity of blood came from the right nostril" ... Was the poor girl buried alive in that "lonely out of the way place" where no one could hear her knocking to be let out? A truly horrible prospect.

I immediately sent a tweet to one of my favorite authors: Lee Goldberg, author of Diagnosis Murder and the Monk books. Lee instantly put me on the track of Dr D.P. Lyle, author of Forensics for Dummies. I was unaware that Dr Lyle has a fantastic blog about forensics for crime writers and other such eccentrics. I emailed him and wondered whether I would ever get a reply.

Yesterday evening, I had to go into central London to an event at the British Museum. As I was passing Jarndyce, the well-known Antiquarian Booksellers, a book in the window caught my eye: Premature Burial! I was early for my event so went into the bookshop and asked if I could look at the book. "You can look at it," said the nice shopkeeper, "but you can't buy it. It belongs to the owner." I perched on the edge of a walnut armchair and opened the book. Almost immediately my eyes fell upon this sentence: ‎"Live burials are far more frequent than most people think." Ew!

Sure enough, the book was full of accounts of people buried alive in the 19th century. Many people were so afraid of premature burial that they put clauses in their wills demanding that they be interred with coffins fit out with contraptions like that on the left. You could pull a little handle and a flag would pop up above ground, showing that you had been buried alive.

I was relieved to return home after my event and find that Dr Lyle, (the Forensics for Dummies doctor), had got back to me with a thorough and reassuring reply: "she was not buried alive and she did not bleed but rather this was either a broken down clot from her sinuses or purge fluid."

According to Dr Lyle, Abby Nash "could have had trauma to her face and blood could have collected in the sinuses. Blood initially clots and then begins to break down and separate into a contracted clot and serum. The serum or liquid part of the blood is usually tinged reddish brown in this circumstance and when they alter her position some of this could have leaked from her nose. This would simply be separated blood following the dictates of gravity. Also there is the situation of purge fluids. These appear as part of the decay of the body. This is blackish looking liquid that comes from the nose and often the mouth and has to do with decay of the tissues within the head. These usually appear a couple of days after death since it takes that long for the decay process to get that far. There are circumstances under which this process is sped up. Things like a very warm environment. Another is when someone has an infection. Here bacteria are already scattered throughout the body and therefore the decay process does not depend upon the intestinal tract breaking down first and releasing the bacteria within the bowel into the system. So she would already have bacteria in her bloodstream from her typhoid fever and therefore would decay much more rapidly."

I could rest easy. Poor young Abby Nash died tragically young. But at least she was not buried alive.


If you are of a ghoulish disposition and would like to read Premature Burial, you can do so online.
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P.S. In the Arthur Conan Doyle 1901 short story 'The Disappearance of Lady Frances Carfax', a character is narrowly saved from being buried alive by the detective Sherlock Holmes.