Occasionally you regret almost immediately your choice of adventure. I’m sad to say, today was one of those days. I was enticed by advertising. Signs along the highway teased us with promises of the King gold mine. It was just up the road a bit higher on the mountain from Jerome. I love a good mine tour, so I thought why not.

The acres of junk, excuse me, …antique vehicles should have been our first clue. We drove past dozens upon dozens of rust buckets to get to the parking lot. But, there plenty of cars of other tourists who couldn’t resist the draw of a mine.

Except, after we paid and entered the fee area we realized there was no mine. Instead there was acres of junk. Determined to make the best of it, we found a route through plywood shacks full of abandoned goods. There was a fence made of horseshoes, rusted buckets, gun barrels, oil cans and pretty much any discarded tool you could think of.

There was an abandoned house, but you couldn’t go in and signs in the yard warn of rattlesnakes. A barn held some better preserved pickup trucks. There was a barber pole, and an outhouse with a mannequin that screamed at you when you opened the door. I was excited to see a mine shaft, but quickly realized it is a fake walkway that only goes a few feet behind a shed.

But there were also chickens, turkeys, rabbits, and pigs. At least the petting zoo was fun. The rock pile was not appealing to me, but some people were snapping pictures like they have never seen rocks. Of course I was taking photos too. After all, we paid our money to get in. There must be something to see, right?

After making as much lemonade as possible from this lemon of a stop we decide to go. We walk by their prize truck, festooned in patriotic bunting. I hope the shed doesn’t collapse on it. Or me for that matter. The gold king mine has turned out to be nothing but tarnished brass.