Live-in caretakers keep remote Arizona rest areas clean

• 12 rest areas in remote parts of Arizona are staffed by live-in caretakers
• Caretakers live in a home rent- and utility-free and are paid minimum wage
• Cellphones, wallets and more left behind -- travelers often return within the hour to retrieve them
• With no cable TV or Internet, the Sunset Point family watches DVDs from the Black Canyon City library

SUNSET POINT — They may be Arizona’s busiest hosts, up at dawn to prepare for the hundreds of visitors who will stop by.

They scrub, weed and generally tidy up the place, making everything look good for those who stop for a snack, the view and, chiefly, the bathrooms. And without so much as a “hello” or “thank you,” those visitors quickly disappear over the horizon.

Which is just how Charlie Sutter and Ann Ward like it. They enjoy watching life go by, and don’t mind cleaning up after it. As caretakers of the Sunset Point rest area, just off Interstate 17 north of Black Canyon City, they are two-fifths of a crew that keeps everything running smoothly.

But as live-in employees, they hold jobs even more rare than those of NFL head coaches.

Sutter, Ward and two of Ward’s sons share a house at the north end of the rest area. Sutter and Ward receive minimum wage and they pay no rent or utilities, the same deal offered to other live-in caretakers at Arizona’s 12 rest areas. (Two others are closed for remodeling.)

Arizona is rare, if not unique, in staffing its rest stops with resident caretakers, according to Steve Elliott, assistant communications director for public information for the Arizona Department of Transportation.

No one tracks rest-area employment patterns across the country. Elliott said it’s almost certain that Arizona is the only state with rest areas equipped with bathrooms, picnic areas and homes. The houses, many of slump-block construction, look as if they were plucked from a 1970s subdivision and dropped alongside remote stretches of highway.

Sutter and Ward never paid much attention to the homes, each bordered by a modest chain-link fence about 4 feet high. But when the opportunity arose to work, play and, of course, rest all in one place, they were happy to set down roots at a place designed for people on the move.

The job

Even before the sun came up, Sutter and Ward were busy in the pre-dawn chill of a winter morning.

Heavy clouds blotted out the stars and cast a light, intermittent rain. It would be another half hour before muted sunlight revealed thick mist obscuring the opposite ridge, as well as the view that drew the couple in the first place.

Had it not been Friday, the school bus would have pulled into Sunset Point at 5:40 a.m. to pick up Ward’s sons, 15-year-old Joey and 12-year-old Corbin. Thanks to a four-day school week, the kids were spared the two-hour drive down to Black Canyon City and back up to Mayer. They slept in.

Sutter and Ward never sleep in, not even on their three days off (Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday). On workdays, they are on the clock from 6 a.m. to 6 p.m. with a two-hour break for lunch, which they take at home rather than the small, microwave-equipped break room tucked behind the main bathrooms.

The two take care of the busiest rest area in Arizona, according to ADOT. In 2011, the most recent year for which statistics are available, an average of 1,103 cars and 226 trucks stopped each day. During the year, 887,000 people availed themselves of the bathrooms, vending machines and plenty of room to stretch, according to ADOT.

That means little rest for those who keep everything in shape.

Sutter does much of the heavy lifting, from emptying the 32 trash cans to blowing away leaves. Ward often walks the perimeter with 3-foot-long pincers, nabbing every bit of litter.

The two are always bending over to snatch a wrapper off gravel or a cigarette butt from a sidewalk crack. Always vigilant, no bit of detritus escapes their eyes, even if they have to tuck it into a pocket when not carrying the oft-present plastic bucket.

But the lion’s share of their work occurs behind closed doors.

Sutter and Ward focus on the restrooms, including the large men’s and women’s rooms as well as the smaller restrooms for families and disabled motorists.

Sutter spends three hours twice a day making sure facilities are not simply clean, but sparkling. Ward needs two hours to finish the twice-daily chore. She calls her boyfriend obsessive. Sutter said it’s about pride.

“I’m very meticulous,” he said. “I know I have the cleanest bathrooms in Arizona and the Southwest. In fact, they’re probably the cleanest bathrooms this side of the Mississippi.”

Yes, he admitted, he is a bit obsessive, down to erasing the handprints he finds above the urinals. He had no idea why so many men have to prop themselves up while finding relief.

Sutter rarely removes his blue rubber gloves, wearing them like a second skin when he’s on the job. He even keeps them on under his work gloves.

Right job, right time

The couple have been on the job since Aug. 11, but they feel like 20-year veterans, having established a routine that makes days fly by.

It’s odd only when you consider that on Aug. 10, they had little inclination to become rest-stop heroes. It just so happened to be the perfect job at the perfect time.

Due to unforeseen circumstances, Ward suddenly had sole care of her two youngest children, but not the means to adequately care for them.

Sutter volunteered to help. He was willing to quit his job at a Phoenix solar-installation company if a move was required.

The two knew of the job at Sunset Point because it had been held by Ward’s ex-husband. They arranged for an on-property interview.

“We met the bosses on the driveway and it went really well,” Ward recalled. “It just seemed right, and when I took in the view from the backyard, that was it.”

The decision was even easier for Sutter.

“I was tired of the city, the heat, working on roofs when it was 100 degrees out,” he said. “I wanted out and this was perfect.”

The two still feel the same way, even on days when, after a three-minute walking commute, they arrive home exhausted.

As Sutter cooks dinner, Ward may step into the backyard and gaze at the valley below, knowing that so many other people have nothing to stare at but block walls and tile roofs.

Nor do urban dwellers enjoy the pleasures of living in the semi-wild, from a sky filled with stars to the two roadrunners who call Sunset Point home. Sutter and Ward have dubbed the pair Roadie and Lady Belle, and the birds are never far from the roost.

“No neighbors, no noise, no traffic,” Ward said, ticking off the advantages. “I even forget the freeway is right outside since I never hear the cars. It’s great.”

Most of the time, anyway.

A little rest-stop history

Before interstate highways, motorists in need of breaks pulled off wherever it was convenient and took care of business.

Doing so along an interstate was as dicey as it was unsightly. As freeways crossed the country in the late 1950s and 1960s, rest stops also became part of the landscape.

The first rest areas — mandated by the Federal Aid Highway Act of 1956 — were intended to provide safe places to take a break, if not sleep, said Joanna Dowling, a research historian and curator of restareahistory.org.

By 1958, toilets and running water were recommended, but not mandatory, according to a 1958 policy on Safety Rest Areas (as posted on restareahistory.org).

As freeways proliferated, the safe, secure and toilet-equipped rest areas spread. Nearly all were maintained by hired crews who made sure all was tidy before moving on.

But not in Arizona.

More than 40 years ago, the state decided rest stops would be best overseen by people on premises 24 hours a day. The stops were, after all, erected in some of the most remote areas in the state, precisely where drivers would need them most.

The first rest-area home was built around 1970 at Mohawk, off Interstate 8 outside Yuma, according to Bobby Wheeler, facility administrator for ADOT. The three-bedroom, two-bathroom, 1,600-square-foot home served as a model for 15 more homes that were built over the next few years.

Three of the state's 15 rest areas have two homes, housing workers who tend facilities on opposite sides of the pavement. And when a northern Arizona rest area closed a few years ago because of budget constraints, ADOT rented the home to a tenant as a way to maintain the property, Wheeler said.

The program's biggest advantage is providing around-the-clock help in remote locations. Should Wheeler receive reports of water leaks, flooding toilets or structural damage, he can call residents and receive photos and a full report within a half hour.

"It's a huge advantage to have eyes and ears on site," Wheeler said. "I pick up the phone and can get an immediate report. Otherwise, it could take someone hours just to get there."

It takes a certain kind of individual to work and live far beyond the reach of such amenities as movie theaters, shopping or conversations with neighbors.

"You have to be a hermit," Rocky Nelson said. He and his wife, Yvonne White, live at the Sentinel rest stop on Interstate 8, 84 miles east of Yuma. He knows the mileage precisely because twice a month he and White make the drive for groceries and other supplies.

"I was raised in the country and this is how I like it," Nelson said. "I don't really care for the hustle and bustle of the city."

The advantage is a two-minute commute by foot, not to mention the scenery. Pat Jaracki and her husband, Frank, have lived and worked at Arizona rest stops for more than 25 years, and she fell in love with the solitude and serenity that come with being in the middle of nowhere.

"It's just gorgeous here," Pat Jaracki said of the Canoa Ranch rest area on Interstate 19 south of Tucson. "The landscaping is amazing, and we get a lot of birds. But not having to drive to work like everyone else, I love that."

Adapting to distance

Two things Ward always makes sure she has when it’s time to go shopping: keys and the list.

When you live at a rest area where a blue sign says, “Next services 45 miles,” there is no such thing as stopping for milk on the way home. Grocery shopping is an endeavor that requires extensive planning.

And that list.

The closest full-service grocery store is in Anthem, a 26-mile journey that takes 27 minutes at 75 mph. It may take a few minutes longer coming back, thanks to an uphill route and a plethora of slow-moving semis.

If Sutter or the boys spot a gap in the cupboard or fridge, they better notify Ward by 7:30 p.m. because her emergency-backup store — a smaller, more expensive shop in Black Canyon City — is 15 minutes away and closes at 8.

“If they’re late, they do without,” she said. “One of the prices you pay for living out here.”

There are other prices to pay besides $3.99 for a small tube of toothpaste at a country store. Pizza delivery is out of reach. Dinners out can include a 90-minute round trip. And keeping two adolescent boys entertained can be difficult, despite a video-game console hooked to the TV.

The new life took some adjustment, Ward said.

“You have to adapt to living out here,” she said. “We also had to work and live together, spending 24 hours side by side. Not every couple can do that, but Charlie and I found out we really liked it. We’ve become even closer.”

On the job

The job has thrown them a few curves, the result of people always coming and going, where a “regular" is considered that woman who, for several Saturdays in a row, left an empty fifth of vodka in the restroom trash.

The first curve happened right off the bat when Sutter and Ward noticed several trucks clustered together late at night. Thinking it unusual because there was plenty of room to spread out, the couple became suspicious when they saw a handful of women visiting the drivers.

Rather than break up the parties, which occurred over several nights, Sutter said they watched, making themselves plain.

“I wanted them to see us so they knew they weren’t fooling anyone,” Sutter said. “A couple weeks later it stopped and we haven’t had any problems like that since.”

And there are potential problems, the worst being hypodermic needles. They turn up occasionally and Sutter and Ward are very careful when disposing of them. They grasp them with the pincers, keeping their hands well out of harm’s way.

Other problems simply come with the job, from the nastiest clean-ups (vomit tops the list) to the scent that every now and then wafts from the liquid-waste evaporative pond.

Then there are the situations you’d expect at a lonely spot along the highway. People needing directions. People needing (and unable to afford) water. People needing to sober up.

“One woman was so drunk she could barely stand,” Sutter recalled. “We were able to get her to stay until a (Yavapai County sheriff’s) deputy arrived. I know we saved her life. Probably someone else’s, too.”

Ward and Sutter still speak of “that creepy guy,” the one who demanded gas. He unnerved the two when he strode to their home and screamed at the two boys, ordering them to fetch gas.

Caretakers are under strict orders to call DPS or the sheriff when feeling threatened, and for the first (and only) time Sutter nearly did so. Minutes later the man disappeared.

There have been dozens of pleasant encounters as well. Sutter and Ward are happy to answer questions, from what summer is like in the desert to what’s it like to live at a rest area.

Mostly they answer questions about Arizona, happy to be unofficial ambassadors of the state.

At their crossroads

After dinner but never after 9 p.m., Sutter often settles behind his drum set and plays. Sometimes he’ll turn up the stereo and accompany whatever song flows from the speakers. Other times he is guided by whim.

Sutter said he’s been playing drums since he was a kid, sitting in with various bands all his adult life. It was a passion rather than a full-time job.

Ward devoted much of her life to her five sons, three of them grown and out of the house. The two remaining don’t require round-the-clock supervision, and she is there when they need her.

So it is no coincidence they live at a rest stop. Life has guided them here as a gentle suggestion to pull off the road, relax a bit. It was as much physical as metaphorical.

“We’re at our own crossroads here,” Ward said. “We needed some room to breathe.”

And like all who find themselves at Sunset Point, Ward and Sutter will one day leave, as soon as they figure out their direction.

At this point the road seems to be heading east. Sutter, an accomplished cook though not professionally trained, would like to open a restaurant. Ward loves the idea as much as the “amazing” dinners he dishes up.

“He is so good in the kitchen,” she said. “I know he can do it.”

The plan is to spend at least two years at Sunset Point before moving to the Carolinas to explore the possibilities. Many things can happen between now and then, so the path is paved with hope rather than asphalt.

Until then, Sutter and Ward are content to watch life speed by. For them, there's one thing better than life in the slow lane, and that's life at an off-ramp.