Diary of an adult runaway

Route 66, Day 5: More sunshine, more inspiration

Not as many pics in this post because I was kinda in a fog. During the night, the characters who hadn't cooperated 13 years ago came out to play and I was wandering around, eyeing locations. I had a constant stream of "oh, he could/oh, she could" in my head. Sweet. It occurred to me that their first date could have been an Ottmar Liebert concert and I kept my eyes peeled for him, but alas, no Ottmar on the streets that day.

The light is different up here:

One of my favorite places--Cafe Pasqual's. Good food, good people, good vibes:

A church (I forget which one):

The Georgia O'Keeffe Research Center. Not a bad place to rock up to work every day:

Tamara and I had visited the O'Keeffe museum 11 years ago, and were keen to go again. We got lucky in that the museum had an exhibition featuring O'Keeffe's work alongside that of her friend and contemporary, Ansel Adams:

Seeing her work again was a great kick in the arse for me. She was a controversial figure, hardcore in some ways, but still an inspiration for me because she did not stop. Did. Not. Stop.

We wandered through town again, coming across the Lensic, fully restored in 2001:

We spent a lot of time in an independent bookstore just off the Plaza, a long, narrow store with sloping wooden floors and a store cat perched up high on her cat tree, and booksellers who spoke as though they knew about the books. Bliss.

Then it was back to the motel for an afternoon nap. This is the McDonald's encountered along the way:

More character revelations, more scribbling, then off to Wholefoods for a late, light dinner, and more watching of the locals and reading of the free presses. Hmmmmm. Ideas abound.          

Route 66, Day 4: The City Different

I was so excited to get on the road that I practically kicked Tamara out of bed. "We're going to Santa Fe!!" I kept screeching because, well, we were going to Santa Fe!! I love this town. I love the vibe, the look, the people, the history, the art, the everything.

So we had a decent breakfast at the motel and chatted with the exceptionally cool and competent Melissa, who had checked us in the night before and who was really good at picking up accents and treating her guests with real hospitality. Even the grumps. I narrowly avoided bumping into an older woman who grouched her way across the foyer and completely ignored Melissa's sunny "Good morning!" It all made sense when the woman opened her mouth to complain at her grandson. Yep, French. Even with all the sunshine and the great exchange rate, she was miserable, making me not at all in a hurry to return to France. Perhaps she was headed away from Santa Fe? Yes, that would make me grumpy, too.

We sped out of the lot and filled up at the Philips 66. This logo is so familiar to me that I'm wondering if they sell petrol products in Australia? I like it combined with the Allsup's logo (with the zia) and what's not to love about that gas price, after $4.53 in L.A.? Even though we were using a company car, we threw our arms up and yelled "Wooohoooooo!!":

As with just about all the Route 66 towns, we saw a lot of development outside the old main streets, many of which have fallen into disrepair but still have a lot of charm. Again, we went through towns where not a soul was to be seen. A lot might have been in church but still...

I loved this 70's-style signage:

You know you're on/near the rez when you start seeing tyres on rooftops:

You can see where the lava flowed through here:

Huh. For the Aussies/Kiwis in the audience:

 

Even though Route 66 just disappeared in some places, forcing us to backtrack to the interstate and pick it up again when we could, we were on the right track here:

Again with the zia:

We went off Route 66 before Albuquerque (and have subsequently been told we missed some good stuff--damn!), but not before this (where Andrew Dice Clay was performing--so that's where he's been hiding):

Santa Fe ahead! Though I have bad memories from this spot because Gail and I got pulled up here by a trooper in '95 by a state trooper. The mongrels always get you going downhill:

We checked into our motel on Cerillos Road (which is also the pre-1937 Route 66). I saw the motel Tamara, Keri and I had stayed in in '97, but boy howdy, how things had changed. Back then, we could loll about in the indoor pool in the evenings and see the thunderheads marching across the high desert. Now, the view was of Target. And CVS, Starbucks, Walgreens, Walmart, Borders, Bed Bath & Beyond and, well, name your chain and it's there. Un-be-leev-able. Everything's done in adobe format to mitigate the commercialism but still!

Deciding we needed a magarita--and pronto!--to get over the shock, we headed for the heart of Santa Fe. I'd heard the Cowgirl Hall of Fame was a good place to hang, so we landed there. Huzzah!! Great margaritas, deeeevine food, and plenty of freaks and geeks to make us feel at home.

We were seated at the communal table and soon got to talking with the couple opposite us, Bruce and Mary Ruth. They were out of New York, retired, living in Taos. Bruce was a little circumspect, whereas Mary Ruth was inquisitive, a little bawdy, a big-time animal lover and a real cowgirl. She looked like she was born to the Southwest and had no qualms in asking if we were going to finish our meals then digging in when we said we were done. Here's a shot of Tamara with them:

I was looking around the patio, checking out my fellow diners when I witnessed a sight even more interesting than the crossdresser in plaid skirt and high hells (who did not spill one drop of his beer--impressive). "That dude's got snakes!" I said and, emboldened by the margaritas, rocked up and asked to touch them. I like the feel of snakes, all smooth and cool. Joaquin told me they were anacondas, but not of the ridiculous David Hasselhoff-movie variety. These were shy and sweet. One slipped around my wrist and flicked its tongue over my skin. Very, very lighty, just like a mosquito landing. Here's Joaquin and his beauties:

We chatted for a little then my attention was drawn back to the table. Cherry pie and espresso ice cream! My main meal (tacos with summer squashes in a chipotle sauce) had been delicious, but this topped it:

Then it was back to crowd watching. Remember how I said Grandpa Walton was dead and buried in Topanga? Apparently not--tell me this isn't him:

Before she left, Mary Ruth let me cowgirl up:

She also helped me commit a crime. I am a freak--a FREAK!--for memorabilia, and I had my eye on the red plastic Coke cup with the Cowgirl logo on it. I asked one of the servers what I had to do to get one of the cups, and he just looked at the cup and looked at me then walked away. "That's an invitation!" Mary Ruth said as she grabbed the cup, poured out the ice and wiped it out for me. "Here you go!" God bless you. Mary Ruth, may you always cowgirl up.

After lunch, we drove toward the Plaza:

We parked outside a store that I thought was perfectly suited to Tamara ;-) :

On the way to the Plaze, we met Merlin:

And saw some cool boots. You know I need the pink:

There's a killing to be made here in repurposing fittings from old buildings:

Love the pop of the red against the adobe:

Seeing all this art on the streets made my heart feel good:

My favorite green and blue together:

Hanging out on the Plaza:

A tour bus trimmed in Taos blue:

A local dude, who gave us a big grin and wave:

 

This is Buster. His owners aren't yet aware that they have a formidable force of nature on their hands:

Last time I was here, this was a Woolworths:

We wandered through a few galleries, where I spotted this:

And these:

                              

Unhhhh! Want, neeeeeeeeeeeeed!! Don't have room in suitcaaaaaaaaaaaase, damnit.

Tired from all the sun and margaritas, we headed back to the motel. I can't remember what we ate that night. Oh wait, yes--we just snacked and I did some work on a manuscript idea I'd had 13 years earlier that I didn't do much with because I was blocked on it. Just one day in the City Different, though, and the ideas were coming thick and strong. There's something about this place...

Route 66, Day 3: Standin' on a corner in Winslow, Arizona

After a great night's sleep, we took off for Sedona, via Oak Creek Canyon, where lots and lots of people were camping by the roadside:

Tamara got all adventurous and went for a tour with Pink Jeep Tours, while I lazed, blogged, wrote and was wildly entertained by a German family (why do Germans have the rep as having no sense of humor? I think they're funny bastards!) at a cafe overlooking the canyon. Here's my view:

 

And here are some of Tamara's shots:

All that canyon air had us starving, so we found our way to the Wildflower Bread Company, where I had a scrumdiddlylicious salad with lavender. Yum!

We wandered back along the main street in the heat, where we met a precious pup:

And spied on some people making fudge:

Then it was back up the canyon while an afternoon storm rolled in. We got hit pretty hard back near Flagstaff before finding our way back onto 66 and going as fast as the sometimes shitty road would allow. We had a date with a boy on the corner in Winslow! Taking the backroad that Route 66 has become was an interesting experience. In some of the small towns, we saw not one person. The heat could account for some of that, but many places felt abandoned--and many homes certainly had been.

Then we came across a nice new shiny sign:

A not-so-shiny gas station:

Ok, wait, a plane?:  

For some people, the reason Winslow, Arizona seems familiar is via the words of Take It Easy:

Well I'm standin' on a corner in Winslow, Arizona, such a fine sight to see
It's a girl, my Lord, in a flat-bed Ford, slowin' down to take a look at me    

Yeah, The Eagles made it famous but Jackson Browne actually wrote the song, so I was determined we stop by the mural/statue that went up about 5 years ago:

The mural is just a start. They're planning to revitalize their downtown (all 4 blocks of it) with a plaza, which will include a concert area:

Yes, they have an honest-to-God flat-bed Ford parked out front of the mural:

There's a store across from the mural that sells Route 66 and Eagles memorabilia. The woman seemed a little pissy with me because I wanted to know where the Jackson stuff was. Oops. If she'd stepped outside, she would have seen the most amazing sight--actual eagles circling high in the sky above her store:

A nearby hair salon:

Loved this:

As you can see, Winslow needs something to revitalize it:

We were there at 4.15 in the afternoon and saw barely a soul downtown, except for one person in the hair salon and 2 other tourists. Apart from that, dead. The coffee shop (which looked really cool) had already closed. There was a movie at 4PM--maybe everyone was there?

At the Wal-mart just outside Winslow--I loved this woman's hair and turquoise jewelry:

New Mexico!

Just on dusk, we pulled into Gallup, which has an extensive, well-maintained Route 66 strip. Just about everything, though, is named after someone: Ed's tyre shop, Bill's garage, Pete's gun shop. We ate at Earl's Diner (uh-huh), where every 5 minutes a Navajo jeweler or potter came by with their wares. We spent a lot of time trying to work out the stories of our fellow diners. It was kind of a strange place in that time-stood-still way you often find in this part of the world:

After sneaking some wifi from outside a motel, we went looking for a place for the night. We tried some budget inn on the strip but the woman on reception was gruff and weird, plus the room stank of dampness and wood paneling, so we raced down the road to the Comfort Inn, where Tamara worked her magic and got the room reduced from $90 to $65. There were 2 big beds with lots of pillows. Heaven!

Route 66, Day 2: Burros, dragonflies and yes, more Elvis

Racing against the clock here, so the commentary will be short.

In the cold light of day, we realized the motel was a dive. Quickly packed up and headed a few doors down to The Wagon Wheel, where the coffee was stro9ng, the eggs good and the scent of some of our fellow diners more than a little ripe. When we were paying for breakfast, I found a postcard for a self-serve honey place that we just had to check out:

They were selling lip balms and body lotions:

And honey in all sizes:

The deal was you took what you wanted, signed the book with details of what you took, and dropped the money in an envelope into a lock box. How cool is that?

Pretty soon after Needles (which gets its name from these needle-topped rocks), we hit Arizona:

Here's the sign to prove it:

The road was in pretty good shape. Not a lot of people around, just plenty of dragonflies (I read later there are 128 varieties in AZ) then we came upon this mob on the road just before Oatman checking us out:

I got out to see what they were doing and they ambled up to see what we had for them:

A little further along, we saw what looked like an abandoned pueblo:

And then we came around a curve and found Oatman, which had reinvented itself from an old mining town into a tourist spot. You could buy fresh carrots for the burros (ah, that's what they were looking for)--we figured they were descended from the burros who'd helped haul out the ore in mining times:

Actually, mining times aren't in the past, even if burros have a better time of it. This place was surrounded by razor wire and copious signs warning mutilation (or close enough) if we didn't stay out:

Abandoned shafts:

A descanso on the road just outside Oatman--one of (too) many:

The view from the top of the pass:

Not that you can see it, but the kennels down there are called The Arf-anage:

The Cool Springs general store:

Their restroom (it was on of those open toilets--but I thought the basin area was cool):

There was a tiny museum inside the store, dedicated to Route 66 memorabilia. While we were looking around, we started talking with the lady running the place, who was searching for the contact details of a man who'd been killed outside the store a few months earlier. She wanted to return his keys to his family, and tell them about what had happened. So if anyone is trying to find more information about Michael Frederick from Osceola, Indiana, contact the Cool Springs General Store. And please, encourage bikers to wear helmets. As free as it might feel without one, it can be deadly. This white descanso is for Michael and the 2 others killed in other accidents:

Next up was Kingman, which was extremely 50s. It had the most PT Cruisers per capita I'd ever seen:

I took my seat then looked around and said "Where's Elvis?" And who should be right in front of us...:

"Look behind you," the woman at the table next to ours said, and what should I find but a huge portrait of Elvis. Huzzah!!

After Kingman came Seligman, where people seem to have too much time on their hands:

Somewhere along the way, I asked Tamara "Do you think this is McCain territory?" Then I realized, huh, Arizona--hell yes, it was McCain territory. Obviously too much sunshine and diner food.

Headed into Flagstaff:

Tamara did her usual hotel mojo and got us a great rate at the EconoLodge just off Route 66. We got a recommendation from the concierge and soon were at Bigfoot BBQ. Lordie, lordie--another case of our eyes being too big for our bellies--although the bellies will soon catch up, the way we're going! We took a quick spin through town, which was being flooded by students, but also clogged by locals enjoying the mild weather and outdoor concerts. Peppermint teas and magazine browsing at B&N before some Entourage viewing (Ari!) and bedtime.

        

Route 66, Day 1: So we headed for Las Vegas, only made it out to Needles

You know that Elvis song, Never Been To Spain?

Well, I've never been to England, but I kinda like the Beatles
So I headed for Las Vegas, only made it out to Needles

That's how Day 1 went, except we were headed for Winslow, Arizona, which--in theory--is do-able in one day. Here's our tale:

Those who know and love Tamara--and there are many--will know that it was close to a miracle that we were good to go by 9 am. Route 66 really starts (or ends) at Santa Monica, but it would have been sheer craziness to try to get down there and back at that time on a Thursday, so we decided instead to start our roadtrip at the closest point to her place, which turned out to be the same place we'd been zipping up and down all week: Colorado Blvd in Eagle Rock. We had breakfast at The Coffee Table (happily, their omelettes are as good as their salads) then off we went. Our first stop was Pasadena:

Tamara took me to see the street her friend lives on and now I have another place to add to my list of "Places I want to live" (seriously--Pasadena has a great lost-in-time feel with all the mod-cons, including a massive Wholefoods):

 

Then it was back on the road, with who knows what ahead of us:

Like a mirage, this appeared ahead of us:

The Santa Anita racecourse. I know I've seen this in a bunch of movies (The Grifters, for one) so we zoomed into the parking lot and asked to go in for free to take some photos. They happily waved us into the members' parking lot. Inside:

I call this "Statue of Some Poor Miserable Beast That Man Exploited For His Enjoyment." You might know him better as Seabiscuit:

Off we went again, finding the kitsch along the way:

The instructions I'd found online were a bit vague at times, so we were happy to see this:

With the kitsch came the grand:

Then we found this new Denny's,so shiny it hurt to look at it:

Headed for Victorville:

Um...okay then...

I'd sent a mail to Rosie to let her know we were headed her way, in case we could meet. I love her blog and was hoping we hadn't given her too short a notice but--so cool!--she met us at Starbucks and we yak-yak-yakked for a good hour. Books, politics, the upcoming conference in San Francisco. What a great way to start the trip :-)

Rosie had to head back to work, so we headed for the nearest diner, having decided earlier this was the Dives and Diners Trip '08. And we quickly found Richie's, which we knew had to be the real deal since we saw a lot of gray-haired people trickling back onto their bus.

They were playing a 50's XM station, so I knew that if I looked hard enough, I'd find the Man from Memphis somewhere. Ta-da!:

The old-new and the new-new:

Looks pretty bleak out there:

This was the diner we'd planned to eat at, except they closed at 3 or 4--probably catering to the plant across the street:

Guess where I am:

Yep, right in the middle of the Mother Road. We took this shot somewhere between Victorville and Barstow:

Just in case I blanked out on where I was, a big-ass flag to remind me:

Barstow, we discovered, just luuuurves its murals:

Classic 50's motel signs. Though I grew up in the 70s, this really reminds me of my childhood:

"A ghost town!" Tamara cried when we reached Calico. Here she is, looking for signs of life (none to be had at 5 in the evening):

The tale of Calico:

Bagdad Cafe, from the movie of the same name. They had buffalo burgers there but we declined to partake:

Remember how I said some of the instructions we had were vague? Well, some of them were quite shitty, too, neglecting to tell us when Route 66 turned into rubble. Not long after the cafe, the road did just that, so we were crawling along until we could get back on to I40. We should have known we were in trouble when we passed a run-down trailer with a guy sitting on the back of a flat-bed truck, just watching us in that "Uh-huh, tourists" kinda way. Before we got back on the interstate, though, we found this place with its own canal system dug in the backyard. There was even an island with a little hut. Nothing to do out in the desert, might as well build your own beach:

We'd been driving for a while when I looked at the thermometer. 98. 99. 103. 104. Finally, 113. And we were driving with the windows down--don't ask me why, it just felt like the thing to do--utter foolishness. Then, while searching for Roy's Cafe in Ludlow (Dear Person Who Wrote The Directions: Roy's Cafe does not exist. Does. Not. Exist.) we came across a sign that told us where we were: Death Valley. Okay, all makes sense now.

As we pulled into the lot of the only cafe in town (the Ludlow, not Roy's), I got a call from Rosie. She said her boss had been giving her hell since she got back to work and here he was and he wanted to talk to me. My first thought was "Oh, shit, he doesn't believe she was at Starbucks with us" and I'd have to vouch for her. Instead, he was upset that she hadn't brought us to visit the fire station where she works. He extended an invitation for us to visit and take us for a tour of Apple Valley (be still, my childlike heart) in the fire rig. Barely containing the squeals, we accepted the invite, even if it meant changing our return schedule. How could we not? (Thanks, Rosie and Art!)

A fellow traveler outside the Ludlow Cafe:

"Where's Elvis?" I asked as a matter of habit, then almost fell off my stool when I saw him right in front of me. This is a photo of him and the cafe owner during the filming of "Stay Away, Joe" in Sedona (she's lucky she wasn't there or I would have driven her crazy with questions):

The night's on its way:

And so's the evening thunderstorm:

The wind was so strong that we didn't even need to use the wipers because the rain was immediately swept up and off. But it was obvious were weren't going to get any further that day so we pulled into Needles and did the rounds of hotels to find the best price. That turned out to be a place just this side of a dive. We were so tired by that point that we didn't care what the bathroom looked like. We were hot, they had a/c and comfy beds. After a quick dinner, we hit the sack, kept company throughout the night by the sound of the railroad tracks only a few hundred feet away.