Turtle Crossing 6/10/12

"And over the grass at the roadside a land turtle crawled, turning aside for nothing, dragging his high-domed shell over the grass.  His hard legs and yellow-nailed feet threshed slowly through the grass, not really walking, but boosting and dragging his shell along. the barley beards slid off his shell, and the clover burrs fell on him and rolled to the ground. His horny beak was partly open, and his fierce, humorous eyes, under brows like fingernails, stared straight ahead. He came over the grass leaving a beaten trail behind him, and the hill, which was the highway embankment, reared up ahead of him. For a moment he stopped, his head held high. He blinked and looked up and down. At last he started to climb the embankment. Front clawed feet reached forward but did not touch. The hind feet kicked his shell along, and it scraped on the grass, and on the gravel. As the embankment grew steeper and steeper, the more frantic were the efforts of the land turtle. Pushing hind legs strained and slipped, boosting the shell along, and the horny head protruded as far as the neck could stretch. Little by little the shell slid up the embankment until at last a parapet cut straight across its line of march, the shoulder of the road, a concrete wall four inches high. As though they worked independently the hind legs pushed the shell against the wall. The head upraised and peered over the wall to the broad smooth plain of cement. Now the hand, braced on top of the wall, strained and lifted, and the shell came slowly up and rested its front end on the wall. For a moment the turtle rested."   The Grapes of Wrath, John Steinbeck


For those of you motoring on The Mother Road, please be aware of these land turtles.  We counted at least nine of the "high-domed shells" on the pavement in Missouri, Kansas, and Oklahoma, and like the forty-year old woman driving the sedan in Steinbeck's classic, at times we swerved to avoid these humorous eyes who have as much right to the road as we do. We're happy to report that all that we saw were happily pushing their shells across the road.  Not so for the poor dozen armadillos spotted along the road. Life can be hard for creatures on the Mother Road.


Happy trails, S

5/22/12- We Don't Drink the Water Here

If you write journal while you travel, as I often do, you know that writing the last few entries is very difficult. This is the excuse I offer for our long silence. But, for those of you waiting eagerly for our final installment- this isn't it. No, it is the penultimate, but hang in there. Your patience will be rewarded sooner or later...

Meanwhile, back on the route...Our Tuesday began with a short souvenir shop tour of Seligman, AZ. And we were not alone. In the few hours that morning we spent in town we saw probably four tour bus loads of tourists. In talking with a woman who works at a souvenir shop we learned that the tour buses are nonstop and the passengers are from all over, but mainly Western Europe. We shared the aisles with these tourists in Seligman Sundries (where we got a nice iced coffee), Angel's Barbershop (now mostly functioning as a souvenir shop), The Rusty Bolt (complete with mannequins atop the roof) and the Snowcap Restaurant.


Hungry from our merchandising efforts we stopped for a late breakfast at the Copper Cart restaurant. For all their wandering, none of the bused tourists were in any restaurants. We both had fantastic breakfasts. Mine was scrambled eggs with chorizo and a little cheese plus potatoes and beans. Mom got a breakfast burrito which was basically the same as mine, wrapped up in a tortilla. Yum!


We made our way from Seligman through the increasingly rugged Arizona countryside to Hackberry General Store. The Smithsonian Magazine article from which we learned about La Posada, and inspired our trip, also mentioned Hackberry. It's a great stop for souvenirs, snacks, a little geocaching and- at least the day we were there- live music. 


Next up was Kingman which has a nice little Route 66 Museum, complete with a prairie schooner, Grapes of Wrath-era truck and old Studebaker- among other exhibits. Also in Kingman we took a side trip to see the Mohave County Courthouse, surrounded by cypress trees, as well as the oldest thing in Kingman, an ancient mesquite tree. There are plenty of other things to see in Kingman- at the welcome center/museum you can pick up a city map with highlighted points of interest- but we had a long way to go.


Outside of Kingman we began our ascent on the Oatman Highway. It's a beautiful drive and we highly recommend it. But make sure you have plenty of water-it's VERY dry- and plenty of gas for the drive because there's not a lot of civilization until you get to California. Along the Oatman Highway there are several pullouts for photo ops which we took full advantage of. Lots of switchbacks make for plenty of different views- all beautiful. On the other side of the summit is Oatman- a so-called ghost town which was once a mining town but is now a line of tourist t-shirt shops set up in the old buildings. The Old West town feel is completed by the wooden boardwalks and the roaming burros that have free reign of the streets. We stopped to wander, but most stores and restaurants were closed. So we headed to Judy's Saloon for a beverage. I asked for water and the bartender said, "we don't drink the water here." That was probably the most authentically old west kind of experience we'd had in this town...


At the base of the mountains we crossed the border into California. We stopped in Needles, which is just across the CA border, for some wine but we should have stopped for a pit stop. We didn't realize what the road had in store for us. But we should have guessed, we weren't yet in the Mojave Desert and it was already 107°!


There is NOTHING in the Mojave Desert. That cannot be stressed enough. In our EZ Guide several "towns" are listed but these are mostly just train markers. There are no real towns, at least not any currently inhabited ones. Some are just ruins. For hours we saw nothing and no one. We did stop for a photo op at the first rest area in the Mojave on 66. It's nothing but a plaque and cement foundations from long-gone picnic tables. Mom wrote our blog address in the sand (if you are reading this because you saw it let us know!) but we quickly got back in the air conditioned car because it was SO hot. Last time I was complaining about the heat was nothing. In the desert the "breeze" feels like when you open the oven door and the heat washes over you like a wave.


Pretty soon we realized we were going to have to drive a lot further than we had planned. We hadn't even seen a gas station for miles. Fortunately there was a place for a pit stop called Roy's. It's a gas station and possibly a motel (it didn't look open but we didn't inquire) and, most wonderfully, public restrooms! Leaving Roy's the sun started getting low in the sky and we were still on the road. But Mom was a trooper and drove past sunset to Barstow where we got a room in the first hotel we saw. After a late dinner at Denny's, the only thing open nearby, we settled into our nice room at the California Inn for the night.