My Road Trip Adventure, Part II: Arizona and New Mexico

This is part two in a series about my travels on Route 66 (and beyond) in July 2012. See Part I here.

Part II covers the Grand Canyon to Gallup, New Mexico.

We reached the Grand Canyon just before sunset. The park was buzzing with tourists from all over the world, rushing toward the canyon's edge before the sun disappeared. A small rainbow greeted us briefly before being swallowed up by the clouds.

{This is a photo-and-text-heavy post, so please click through for more!}

Once the sun set, we went back to the hotel for a short slumber, and then we rose while it was still dark out and returned to the canyon. We walked through the park in the crisp morning air, our skin like gooseflesh and the soft footfalls of other early risers the only sound we could hear. We passed a Japanese woman who held her finger to her lips when she saw us approach, and then pointed into the nearby brush where a small doe was eating her breakfast. We stood with the woman for several moments, watching the creature silently. Then we took our place on the look out, our shoulders hunched against the cold and our fingers eagerly clenched around cameras and cell phones. Clouds hid the most spectacular colors, so we were left with what could filter through--oranges and pinks illuminating the dark silhouettes.

(hah)

We drove through Williams and Flagstaff, towns full of Indian Traders and beautiful buildings and small pieces of the past.




As we continued across Arizona, Twin Arrows came into view. Once the site of a bustling cafe, trading post and gas station, it now sits abandoned. The paint is chipping, windows are boarded up, and weeds grow from cracks in the pavement. Thankfully, the namesake of the pit stop--the two fifty-foot arrows built out of concrete and wood--were recently restored, so the paint now gleams as bright as it used to.




Not too far up the highway from Twin Arrows we stopped at a place called Two Guns. Two Guns has a long and almost entirely gruesome history, fraught with massacre, murders, fire and a disproportionate amount of accidents on the stretch of Route 66 that passes by it. Some believe it's haunted by the ghosts of the Apache warriors who were massacred there--an event so tied to Two Gun's history that some maps mark the site as "The Apache Death Cave." It's said that in 1878, a band of Apache raided several Navajo encampments--looting homes and murdering many women and children. The Navajo sent out a posse to track down the raiders, and eventually discovered them hiding in a series of caves below the site now known as Two Guns. The Navajo trapped the Apache inside the caves and then set fire to the entrance, killing all 42 Apache.

The site became known as Two Guns in the 1920's, when a man named Henry "Indian" Miller set up shop. He built a wild animal zoo, full of bobcats, snakes, mountain lions, and porcupines, among many other desert dwelling creatures. He also exploited the Death Cave, organizing guided tours and selling the bones he found inside to passing motorists. It shouldn't come as any surprise that this is when the 'curse' began to take hold--in the following years the on-site general store was robbed; Miller shot and killed his partner (but was acquitted); Miller was mauled by several of the big cats in the zoo (and bitten by a Gila); and fire gutted the general store. Eventually Miller moved on. The site changed hands several times, finally falling into complete disrepair by the early 1970's.

Though the site sits just yards from the I-40, it feels otherworldly, the sounds of passing cars inexplicably muted. Crumbling stone buildings dot the land, along with bridges that seem to lead to nowhere. I was too scared to approach the canyon and peer into it for Apache ghosts. NO TRESPASSING signs lie trampled in the dirt. Two Guns Station was decorated with a wooden cross and a sign warning to BEWARE OF DOG. A near-empty hummingbird feeder with drowned bees hung from the awning, with no hummingbirds in sight.



We quietly crept back into our car, and drove on in silence. We saw signs advertising Meteor Crater, and a radio call number that would give us the information we needed about the site. I dialed the number but there was nothing but static. We pulled off the highway anyway, and drove through the red dirt to the crater site, only to find it overpriced ($16) when you think about what you're paying for--to stare at a giant hole in the ground--so we turned around and headed on.



Joseph City was next, which wasn't so much a city as a single building--the Jack Rabbit Trading Post, a place that carries postcards featuring cowboys riding oversized rabbits and rubber magnets shaped like the fifty states. And not to forget the giant jack rabbit that hangs out in the parking lot, endlessly sun-tanning himself.

(side-saddle, like the lady I am)

Our last stop in Arizona was Holbrook, where you can sleep in a wigwam and find dinosaurs on the roadside. Petrified rocks were in abundance, advertised on many store fronts, along with Indian blankets and jewelry.



As we crossed the boarder into New Mexico, I was delighted to see grand rock formations protruding from the earth, and found myself glued to my window, ogling them until they faded from view.



We paused in Gallup for lunch at a restaurant called El Metate, a place I will dream about for the rest of my life. Tamales smothered in mole, homemade tortilla chips with green salsa, spiced chicken tacos, and a strawberry tamale for dessert. I also had horchata for the first time--and certainly not the last. We left with our bellies near to bursting--but not a single regret.



We made a point to stop in at the El Rancho Hotel before motoring out of Gallup, which was a must after seeing miles of billboards for it featuring old film stars. The interior was like a Wild West dream; two parts sprawling ranch house and one part mountain ski lodge. There are remnants of yesteryear throughout, from the metal cigarette dispenser to the wagon wheel lounge chairs and the photographs all over the walls of the stars who stayed there while filming Westerns in the area. It' definitely a place I would love to stay at least once.



And then we were off, pushing on in hopes of making it to Albuquerque before dark...

~~~

Huh, this is going to be a very long series I think! I have a lot to say, and a lot of photos too, but I'm happy to have an excuse to write this all up, if only for me to have in the future when I begin to forget the details! Anyway, Part III will be along in hopefully not too long!

My Road Trip Adventure, Part I: California and Arizona

If you look at a modern day map, Route 66 no longer exists. In the western states, it's been replaced by a thick red line labeled I-40, which turns into the I-44 and the I-55 the further north it goes. It's not until you look really close that you see the three grey offshoots that are still marked 66--all in California and Arizona. These last remaining pieces of America's most famous highway look quite a lot different than the Interstate-replaced route; while the 40 barrels straight on through, taking the fastest route from A to B, Route 66 meanders through the mountains and valleys, prairies and fields, connecting small towns to big cities, taking travelers through parts unknown. Route 66 wasn't worried about being the fastest highway--from the time it became an official highway in 1926, it just wanted Americans to see and experience their own country.

And eighty-six years later, that's just what I was going to do.

{this is a photo-and-word-heavy post, so click through if you don't mind!}

Part I covers Victorville, California to Seligman, Arizona.

And here's a little Jerry Lee Lewis to get you through a teensy bit of this long post!

I packed my suitcase a few days before leaving because I was too darn excited to wait. I packed many unpractical things, as I often do, dreaming of the specific and dreamy scenarios I hoped to find myself in. You can see my Argus c-4 in the right corner of my suitcase, which is what I used for most of the following photos, though some are taken with a digital camera, and others with a cell phone!

We took off from my Mema's house in the central valley, and headed for Victorville, which was the most logical place to pick up Route 66 without going too far out of our way. Technically, 66 'ends' in Santa Monica, at the ocean, and 'begins' in Chicago, Illinois. Most migrants during the Depression and otherwise used the road to head west, toward California, where they thought they would find a better life (they didn't). In the Post-war years, a majority of motorists were also heading west to see Hollywood and Disneyland, as well as the still-mysterious Southwest, so unfortunately my mom and I were heading in the opposite direction of history! But oh well.

We picked up the original Route 66 outside of Ludlow, CA. The road wasn't in as bad a shape as either of us thought it might be. A few cars and motorcycles passed us heading west, and occasionally the I-40 came into view, weaving in and out of sight, but for the most part all was still. It rained a few times, though there was hardly any clouds in the sky, and the sun turned the raindrops into diamonds as they hit our windshield.

As we whizzed past crumbling buildings and slow-moving trains, the road slowly deteriorated. Cracks and pots holes from years past became more common than smooth patches of road. Occasionally the entire road disappeared beneath wash outs, and we were driving through small rivers reflecting the sky like glass.

Thunderstorms moved overhead and let loose, pummeling us with thick rain drops. Distant lightning strikes touched the earth. A rainbow appeared overhead, and the sky changed colors. We spent the night in a town called Needles, just a few miles from the Arizona border. Lightning continued to illuminate the sky, and the rain came down harder than ever. A family of French tourists stood beneath the lobby's awning, snapping photos of the orange sky and talking to each other excitedly.

The next morning we woke to sticky, humid air. We were cautioned against driving the the next leg of the original highway, due to its penchant for wash outs and landslides, and its dangerous switchbacks. We decided to heed the warnings and take the I-40, missing out on Oatman, which is only accessible by that dangerous bit of Route 66. Oatman is named for Olive Oatman, a woman who was abducted by Yavapai Indians in the 1850s. From The Sound of Shaking Paper:

Olive's family was traveling alone through Arizona, when they were ambushed by a group of Yavapai Indians. The Yavapai murdered all of the family members except for Olive, age thirteen, her sister Mary, age seven, and Lorenzo, age fifteen, whom they clubbed and left for dead (but survived). The Yavapai Indians took Olive and her sister Mary into captivity. Mary died from starvation while the girls were still in Yavapai possession. Olive was later traded to a group of Mohave Indians, supposedly for two horses and some blankets. Olive lived a much happier life with the Mohave. She assimilated with them completely, becoming one of their group. The significance of the tattoo was to identify her as a Mohave in the afterlife, thus the tattoo indicates that she was accepted fully into the Mohave tribe.

Olive Oatman

Olive was later released by the Mohave, and eventually settled in the area that is now known as Oatman. For those that saw my earlier post about Lily Bell from Hell on Wheels, there is another character on that show called Eva, who is partially based on Olive. I didn't know the history of Oatman before we decided to pass it up, so I was quite sad when I found out we had missed such an interesting place. However, I don't suppose it would have been worth getting washed off the road!

Eva from HoW

Once we exited the I-40 onto the next drivable patch of 66, we whizzed right past the Hackberry General Store without realizing it would be there. We slowed down on the empty road and went back. The parking lot was buzzing. Several motor homes were parked, their doors and windows open with children hanging out chatting to one another, eating snacks and sipping sodas.The unmistakable sounds of German wafted from the open windows of the car next to us.

I hardly ever see old Pepsi cola machines! They're almost always Coca-cola

The General Store sold everything from prickly pear jam to leather biker vests. The ceilings were covered in rusted license plates and 66 memorabilia. A world map was hung on one wall, pins sticking out from where tourists had come from. Outside, run down old cars were lined up like grave stones, and a koi pond was nestled behind some reeds. There was an empty picnic table and a lonely old tree swing that I gave some attention to for a bit, but when the sky turned dark, we got back on the road.

We drove through Peach Springs, a small town that boasts an entrance to the Grand Canyon Caverns. We pulled off the road to take a photo of a lonely looking dinosaur, only to get caught in a sudden downpour, which caused me to jostle the camera.

By the time we reached Seligman, the skies were clear. Seligman is full of the kind of kitsch one expects to find on Route 66. Tin road signs and 50 year-old advertisements for soda pop, buildings painted in blue and white stars, promises of the best tasting burgers you’ve ever had. Supposedly, Seligman was the main inspiration for the town of Radiator Springs in Disney’s Cars. When we stopped in at Historic Seligman Sundries, the shopkeeper was happily telling a group of people about the "Hollywood people" that came to the town some years before.

We got an ice cream cone at the Snow Cap Drive-In before heading toward the Grand Canyon...

~~~

Oh my, this post is a lot! Since I wrote a pretty substantial paper about 66, it's kinda hard not to talk about the history of some of the sites! I just find it fascinating, but I know it's quite a lot to take in, and if all my posts are like this, then I'll be posting about my road trip for months, haha. I'll try to break them up with posts about different things, just so this blog doesn't turn into Rachel's Annoying Travel Ramblings.

Read Part II here!

The Trans-Continental Foot Race

Oh gosh, I feel like there are so many things I want to make a post about, only I haven't had any darn time for it! I've been writing up a storm (well, that may be an overstatement) and I've been reading a lot of fascinating stories about Route 66 too. My absolute favorite story, one that I've been dying to share here, is of the Trans-Continential foot race (or the "Bunion Derby"), a scheme cooked up by the guys trying to promote use of the newly-formed highway. It was a coast-to-coast marathon that offered a $25,000 grand prize to the first competitor to run from California all the way to New York, if you can believe it, and took place in 1928. Over 200 men entered the competition, even though the price to participate (between the entrance fee & the money needed for a one-way ticket home from NY) was an incredible $125!



At the starting line there were men wearing everything from work boots to moccasins, and a few that even went barefoot. Runners came from all over the world to participate; some where professionals, and others had no experience at all. Over the course of 84 consecutive days, the contestants found themselves running anywhere from 30 to 70 miles per day, through wind, rain, heat, and humidity. The race was poorly ran by a man named C.C. Pyle who only cared about making a profit, so the runners suffered for it: they were given awful food by a cook who was fired partway through, and they had to sleep in everything from tents to chicken coops. Everyday more men dropped out out the race; only 55 crossed the finish line.

I suppose the most important person in this story is Mr. Andy Payne, an Oklahoma-born farm boy with Cherokee ancestry who won the race at 20 years-old. He wasn't a professional runner, but entered the race because he was broke and unemployed, and "thought he could do it."

Andy Payne

At the finish line, Andy said he owed his success to cornbread. (Eat more cornbread, kids!) Once he collected his prize money (which was hard to do, since Pyle was hard-pressed to give it up), Andy went back to Oklahoma and married his sweetheart, Vivian--who was his old high school teacher, haha! (She was only one year older than him.)

I had so much fun reading about this fascinating and sometimes wacky event that I was actually a bit annoyed that I had never heard about it before! This is the kind of thing that could have spiced up a high school history lesson, just due to the sheer audacity of it. I also can't believe a film hasn't been made about it yet, which gives me an idea...

Oh, and I have to tell you about one more runner: "Wildfire" Thompson from Arkansas, who ran in red flannel underwear and wouldn't change out of it even though it made him look "more like a hobo than an athlete." During the last few laps he ran backwards for a while as a show for the crowd, and then he hung out for weeks after the race was over, just jogging around Madison Square Garden. When asked what he was doing, he said, "When all the misery's gone, you feel kind of lonesome and lost." Aw.

Read more about the race here & here & in Route 66: The Mother Road by Michael Wallis.