To get to Clifton, you have to really want to get to Clifton.
The nearest big city is Tucson, about three hours away. After spending the night at an uncharacteristically ratty Holiday Inn Express in Willcox, I took U.S. Route 191 through a succession of towns, each seemingly smaller than the last.
The morning drive was quiet and scenic through hills dotted with creosote bushes, spiky cacti, and spindly ocotillo plants leading up to Safford, the hometown of a good friend who got the hell out of there. Route 191 bends east here, passing by blooming cotton fields nourished by the Gila River before the terrain becomes rockier and steeper.
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Soon, I saw what has drawn so many to Clifton over the last 150 years: one of the world’s largest open-pit copper mines.
The Morenci mine looked like the Sarlacc monster from the “Star Wars” movies. Once-picturesque cliffs had been carved into a series of pale terraces that descended hundreds of feet. Dust rose from the bottom. Rows of houses with the same gray roofs stood below me as I drove past a training center operated by the mine owner, Freeport-McMoRan.
When you picture an Old West town, Clifton is it. A decommissioned railroad car stood gleaming next to the main road. A hole blasted out of a cliff once served as a jail cell, according to a plaque. Silhouettes of cowboys decorated a motel.
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