GIRLS CLUB

He signed a gem of a contract: to fly the Hearst family, which he would do for nearly 10 years. “We became pretty good friends,” says Brooks of William Randolph Hearst Jr.

for a cast and crew party. Bill and Martha cooked up a batch and flew it to San Francisco, where it boarded a London-bound plane. It was so popular with the Brits that Wayne's secretary and lover, Pat Stacy, had to hide a bowl so the Duke could have some.

As the years passed, John Wayne's health began to fade. “He got to where he couldn't breathe in the airplane without oxygen,” Brooks recalls. But the prideful Duke didn't like people seeing him sucking on oxygen, so Brooks helped him hide his secret.

In return, Wayne nudged Brooks into showbiz. Literally.

Brooks, Wayne and Hearst were flying back from a VIP-packed soiree when Hearst mentioned he wanted to launch a Western cookingshow on television. He asked Brooks if he knew anyone who could host it, but the pilot said he didn't. At that point Duke jabbed Brooks three times in the ribs, cuing Hearst to say, “Well, how about you, Chili Bill? You've done just about everything else.” Brooks was dumbfounded. “Give it a try,” Wayne urged. “You might just like showbiz.” Brooks later learned it was the Duke's idea.

And so Bill Brooks went from Western movie extra to Western cooking show star, hosting 150 episodes of Chili Bill's Kitchen. The show was shot mostly in Sedona at the well-known Coffeepot Restaurant, then owned by actress Jane Russell. Brooks went on to produce and direct two documentaries one about gunfighters of the West, the other about the Hearsts.

In 1979, John Wayne died, but he remained central to Brooks' life. At Wayne's posthumous 75th birthday, Brooks offered Wayne's son Michael $5,000 for part of his collection of the Duke's memorabilia. It would become much more than a personal collection.

During the '80s and '90s, a series of start-ups stopped short for the Brookses. They returned to Arizona, opening a restaurant and then a gas turbine jet-engine company. Both were shuttered. Bill applied for astronaut training under NASA's new Senior Astronaut Program, but after beginning his training, the Space Shuttle Columbia exploded, putting the program on hold. Then, in 2000, Martha, Bill's wife of 50 years, passed away.

Now 77, Brooks remains the consummate pilot and cowboy. He wears aviator suits as he lounges in his Cornville home, which is adorned with model airplanes, John Wayne's film props and some of Brooks' own artwork. (Yes, he paints, too.) From his window, he can gaze at Sedona, where so many of his teenaged movie-making memories transpired, and at House Mountain, where Martha's ashes are scattered.

ville home, which is adorned with model airplanes, John Wayne's film props and some of Brooks' own artwork. (Yes, he paints, too.) From his window, he can gaze at Sedona, where so many of his teenaged movie-making memories transpired, and at House Mountain, where Martha's ashes are scattered.

A few years ago, Brooks discovered John Wayne fan Web sites, where he could relive old times making movies and flying with the Duke. He returned to 26 Bar Ranch near Eagar, bought the foreman's house, and converted it into a John Wayne museum filled with the memorabilia he bought from Michael Wayne. Last summer, the memorabilia including Wayne's '73 pickup truck was moved to the Territorial Museum at Wild West Junction in Williams.

Now Brooks gives museum tours to people around the world. “You can't believe that after all these years there are still that many John Wayne nuts around,” he says. But he's happy to oblige, regaling fans with personal tales about his friend, the Duke. Like the time Wayne accidentally walked into the swimming pool at a party, or the day he saved an old woman from losing her house in Eagar.

After meeting him, no doubt many of these John Wayne fans become Bill Brooks fans, too. He might not be a silver-screen icon, but as he says, “I've lived one helluva life.” For more information on Bill Brooks' collection of John Wayne memorabilia in the Territorial Museum at Wild West Junction, call 928-635-4512 or visit wild westjunction.com.

What started as a girls weekend for two sisters from Phoenix has grown into an allwomen travel brigade with more than 1,000 adopted “sisters.” Fly-fishing, horseback riding, whitewater rafting ... that’s how they spend their days. At night, they crash in their vintage Airstreams, et al. It’s not that these women have anything against men, per se; they’d just rather hit the road without them.

A fierce wind blows across Monument Valley Navajo Tribal Park, where a strange and shiny parade has commenced along its sacred earthen avenues. One by one, more than 30 cars and trucks emerge through a dense cloud of sand on the western horizon. Countless families descend on this place every year, but it's clear by the puzzled looks on the faces of the locals and visitors who stop to watch them pass that no one has ever seen a family vacation quite like this before.

All but a few of these vehicles are pulling small trailers mostly vintage sleepers each colorfully decorated with painted murals, names, stickers or at least a number. What looks like the circus is actually the cowgirl caravan, a vacation posse better known as Sisters on the Fly.

"See that?" A giddy woman's voice broadcasts over a chain of two-way radios. Her finger defies the sandblasting gusts from the window of an SUV and points to the Three Sisters rock formation. "That's us!" she squeals. "The sisters!"

"You bet," replies another female voice, this one from a behemoth black pickup in the lead. "Just as long as I'm the skinny one."

The voice and the truck belong to Maurrie Sussman, also known as Sister No. 1, the convivial co-creator of this all-women travel brigade.

A decade ago, Sussman and her real sister, Becky Clarke (Sister No. 2), were adventuring in Montana. With wine in hand after an empowering day of fly-fishing, the two talked about how more women should experience this type of get-away the kind typically enjoyed by men. So, they began extending invitations for fly-fishing adventures to fellow "sisters," and Sisters on the Fly was born. Since that day in 1999, the group has grown from two sisters to more than 1,000 all by word of mouth.The trailers, or the cowgirl caravan, began tagging along when the ladies realized that hauling their fannies and fishHiking gear all over the country would be a lot more enjoyable if they were hauling some of the comforts of home with them like their bedrooms. Since husbands, kids and pets weren't allowed on the trips, they wouldn't need much, just enough space for a bed, a table and maybe a place to powder their noses and take shelter from the elements. If a small wine rack were to fit in there somewhere, even better.

Based out of Sussman's home in Phoenix, SOTF (not exactly "soft") started as a fly-fishing group, but as the numbers grew, so did the ideas for adventure. In addition to fishing trips, the Sisters have assembled for vineyard tours, whitewater rafting, horseback riding, classes at Cow-girl College (which is exactly what it sounds like) and, now, for sightseeing in Monument Valley.

This particular trip has been orchestrated entirely by Sussman, whose close friendship with the Yazzies, one of the area's oldest families, has made possible not only an intimate look at the Navajo way of life, but a special Diné blessing ceremony to be conducted for one of the Sisters who's been seeking reconnection with her lost Native American heritage.

Renowned Navajo rug weaver Susie Yazzie, a 2005 Arizona Culture Keeper who is now 96 and still lives in Monument Valley, has graciously agreed to host the ladies on her vast expanse of land, while her son, Lonnie Yazzie (who recently passed away), has offered to guide them across it. He and his young nephew, Nez, lead the caravan past the Yazzie home stead to Lamb Canyon, on the south side of Saddle Rock.

This isn't their first rodeothe Sisters move in like clock work, knowing just how much space to take for themselves and how much to leave for the rig behind them, creating a perfect circle of horsepower and carriages.

Immediately, they go to work. Sussman's cousin, Laura La Chance (Sister No. 66), sets up the kitchen and communal eating area. Molly Westgate and Kati Weingartner (Sister No. 190), of Mesa, set up an old dryer basin and a custom welded stand for the campfire and help unload two truckbeds filled to the brim with pet and livestock food, which Sussman requested everyone take along as an offering of gratitude for the Yazzies. There's never a lack of volunteers for the com munity duties, but looking out at the cul-de-sac of trailers, it's easy to see which task is everyone's favorite: setting up their own personal homesteads, all of which are as unique and full of character as the Sisters themselves.

What began as a practical travel solution turned into a challenging hobby. Now, finding and restoring 12to 24-foot vintage trailers is the signature element of the sisterhood and one of its primary membership draws. SOTF trailers date back to the early 1950s and include rare models made by Holi day, Shasta, Aljoa, Scotsman, Aloha, Fireball and Airstream. Where do they find them?

"In people's yards," says Tammy Phillips (Sister No. 345), of Salt Lake City. "You drive by and notice them, then you keep driving by, and one day you knock and say, 'I noticed this has been sitting here, then you make them an offer."

Elaine Block (Sister No. 151) talked the Forest Service into selling "Sassy Sister," her 1952 Boles Aero trailer.

Leora Hunsaker (Sister No. 52), who joined SOTF after one of the members brought a trailer to her sign shop in Globe and asked her to "put a cowgirl Betty Boop" on it, says that her 1966 Jet, "Lazy Ass Ranch," was a "hunting shack fixer upper." Others found their rigs online through various trailer enthusiast clubs and Web sites.

Once acquired, the trailers become the equivalent of muscle cars for men - an outlet of creative energy and personal expression. The Sisters obsess over every detail to make them strictly their own, to impress the others and, in many cases, to top them.

Sussman bought “Lucy,” a 1958 Holiday — easily identified by the hand-painted red Pegasus, the cowgirl dressed in black and the Sisters on the Fly logo— for $400, but she estimates that she's put about $10,000 into it. Edith Berry paid about the same for her 1961 Serro Scotty trailer, and rebuilt it from the wheels up. She estimates it's now worth about $70,000. But these ladies aren't in it for the money.

“At this age, it's like starting over again,” says Sister No. 295 of her rebuilt Serro. “I had great fun doing the trailer because no one told me I couldn't. I never did anything like this. There's no amount of money that can compare to the sense of accomplishment.” In creating their mobile spaces, some seek a haven from the chaos and clutter of their daily lives and keep their trailers clean and simple. But the majority of them see the aluminum, fiberglass and steel as a blank canvas for creating alter egos; most of them are cowgirls. Then there are those like Vicky Kimling (Sister No. 94), of Scottsdale, whose playful pink and black trailer, “Floozy,” is fashioned after an Old West bordello — right down to the pink satin bedding, the dangling fishnet stockings and the smell of cheap perfume. Regardless of the trailers' individual flavors, the common thread of sisterhood ties them all together. No matter who signs on, they're welcomed as part of the estrogen-rich family. Walk through the “neighborhood” and you'll likely be gone a long while, just taking in everyone's hospitality — a cup of coffee here, a gin and tonic next door, a fresh loaf of bread down the way, or a jacket if you forgot to pack your own. You can even come away with a full tutorial on welding frames or overhauling a propane stove.

Very few of the Sisters come aboard knowing anything about camping, trailers, trucks or towing safety. The experience and lessons are passed on from one generation of Sisters to the next, a tradition they're now invited to witness in the Yazzie family. It's not every day that Navajo families sacrifice one of their sheep for a meal, but the Yazzies, like the Sisters, see this as a special occasion. Cousins, friends, nieces, nephews, granddaughters and grandsons are all on hand to help prepare the feast and teach the Sisters how everything is done. They all know their roles. Not a single part of the mutton is wasted, not even the bodily waste. Everything can be either stewed, grilled, dried, woven, carved or fed to the dogs, which are only too happy to do their part. There's an art to this life, to this culture, and as the Sisters make their way back to camp after dinner, Sussman is beaming. She's happy that the Sisters are absorbing it respectfully and with the same enthusiasm that she has.

Sussman, who has a background in anthropology, met the Yazzies while working on irrigation projects on the reservation in the early '90s. Although, it would appear, from their spirited laughter and genuine admiration for one another, that Sussman was born into this family.

The idea of bringing her extended families together to experience one another appealed to her long before this weekend, but it also made her nervous. While new Sisters are always welcome, not everyone knows Sussman or what it means to have the trust and respect of the Yazzies, and what