by jimhinckleysamerica | Jul 11, 2010 | Uncategorized
This blog started as curiosity about what a blog is, how they work, the possibility of having a way to share my love for things discovered on the road less traveled with an international audience, and to promote books written. Well, that was more than a year ago and here we are with post number 613.
A conclusion derived from reviewing the last 612 posts is that the title chosen on a whim was rather appropriate. After all, more than 90 % of these postings have at least a passing reference to Route 66.
The subtitle is also a suitable descriptor. In recent years quantum leaps have been made in regards to transforming writing and photography into an actual job that pays the bills rather than a hobby.
Still success proves to be rather elusive even though things are not as bad as hinted with the line, “…a starving artist on Route 66.” We do reside on Route 66. Most of our adventures on the road less traveled seem to center on Route 66 or at least start there. We are not starving because I am blessed to have a day job.
These posts have helped develop a deeper appreciation of just how fortunate we are to live on the most amazing highway in the country. For starters, we have a front row seat to a never ending parade.
In September a daring (?) group will be rolling west from North Carolina on pre 1916 motorcycles. In early August we have a group piloting vintage micro cars (BMW Isseta, etc.) headed east, with a scheduled stop in Kingman, to Chicago. In between these two events will be another edition of Chillin’ on Beale Street, with a salute to Mopar theme, and a visit from an Australian and Dutch tour group.
Second, I have been privileged to meet a wide array of fascinating and interesting people from throughout the world and never leave my “home town.” More than a few of these associations have developed into friendships and for this I am quite grateful.
These meetings often inspired new adventures. In turn these led to new associations, new friendships, and renewed inspiration.
In retrospect, the Route 66 dominance of posts is not surprising when one considers how much of my life centers on this old road. Illustrating this are the majority of photos that have appeared on this blog, such as this shot of Sitgreaves Pass at sunset, have a Route 66 connection.
This particular photo was taken after a book signing in Lake Havasu City. For the return trip we made a detour to Topock and followed Route 66 home with a few stops at Oatman, Goldroad, and Sitgreaves Pass to catch the sunset.
My long association with the old double six has also opened a wide array of doors in regards to writing. My third assignment for a major publication was for Route 66 magazine. Of the five books written and published, one was a Route 66 related title, Backroads of Route 66http://rcm.amazon.com/e/cm?t=1968adventurer&o=1&p=8&l=bpl&asins=076032817X&fc1=000000&IS2=1<1=_blank&m=amazon&lc1=0000FF&bc1=000000&bg1=FFFFFF&f=ifr, and another was filled with Route 66 related material. The sixth book, Ghost Towns of Route 66, will be released this fall and the latest project is a Route 66 encyclopedia. For another title scheduled for release this fall, Greetings from Route 66http://rcm.amazon.com/e/cm?t=1968adventurer&o=1&p=8&l=bpl&asins=076033885X&fc1=000000&IS2=1<1=_blank&m=amazon&lc1=0000FF&bc1=000000&bg1=FFFFFF&f=ifr, I was a contributor.
In sharing my fascination, my passion, and almost a half century of life tied to the double six, I have and am contributing to the river of ink that has flowed in a vain attempt to extol the mystique and charm of iconic Route 66. Still, the best I can hope for with the words I write is to record some of its history for future generations, to inspire travelers to discover its charms, and to temporarily sedate the wanderlust of the armchair traveler.
Route 66 is something that must be experienced. I may be a gifted wordsmith but words can not adequately express the pleasure of fresh baked pie, coffee, and friendly conversation shared with passionate locals and equally passionate travelers from the four corners of the earth at the Midpoint Cafe in Adrian, Texas.
I will be the first to admit that the focus bordering on obsession that fuels the fascination with Route 66 often prohibits the discovery and exploration of other amazing lost highways such as US 6. I will also be the first to admit that Route 66 is no longer a mere historic highway, it is the stuff of dreams.
From that perspective, I hope you continue to find this blog, a chronicle of our journeys and adventures on the road less traveled a source of inspiration. Moreover, I hope these posts will lead you to discover the simple pleasures only found on the road less traveled, and the alluring, enigmatic, and entrancing wonders only found on legendary Route 66.
by jimhinckleysamerica | Jul 8, 2010 | Uncategorized
The icons of the American landscape are as varied and diverse in nature as the people that call themselves Americans. There is Independence Hall in Philadelphia and the Grand Canyon in Arizona, the hallowed grounds at Gettysburg and Wounded Knee, the Statue of Liberty and the Liberty Bell.
In recent years a new icon has been added to the list and it may be the most unusual of all. It is a stretch of asphalt and concrete that ties the metropolis of Chicago on the shores of Lake Michigan with the waters of the Pacific at Santa Monica signed with double sixes.
Long ago this old road transcended its original purpose and took on almost mythical incarnations. It became a destination and the key foundational component in the resurrection of forgotten towns all along its length.
Almost thirty years after its decommissioning the old roads popularity shows no signing of waning. In fact, it may be more popular today than at anytime in its history.
International tour companies cater to those hungry for an opportunity to experience the mystique of legendary Route 66. Publishers continue to crank out volumes extolling its virtues and all along the old route tarnished gems, such as Afton Station in Afton, Oklahoma, or the old Hackberry General Store in Hackberry, Arizona are being given a new lease on life, a new opportunity to shine in the sun.
All along the route there is a palpable sense of excitement in the air that often defies the reality of empty streets, broken windows, and ruins that line its path. Kingman, Arizona exemplifies this.
Drive Route 66 through Kingman, from east to west, and you are presented with a near perfect time line, in chronological order, of the evolution of the American highway. First, are the manifestations of the modern, generic age that accompanied the development of the interstate highway system.
The shadow of the I-40 overpass will not have vanished from view in the mirror before vestiges in the form of motels from the 1960s and cafes appear along the roadway. Next are the tarnished gems such as the El Trovatore and Hilltop Motel, the Arcadia and the White Rock Court that represent the era from 1930 to the mid 1960s.
Many of these were noted in the now classic work by Jack Rittenhouse,
A Guide To Highway 66http://rcm.amazon.com/e/cm?t=1968adventurer&o=1&p=8&l=bpl&asins=0826311482&fc1=000000&IS2=1<1=_blank&m=amazon&lc1=0000FF&bc1=000000&bg1=FFFFFF&f=ifr. Most now cater to the weekly or monthly rental but they appear along the roadway with their darkened neon and faded signs as refugees that have somehow managed to escape from the confines of the past to serve as windows into the past for the modern motorist.
The historic district, is a sprinkling of artifacts from the territorial days of Arizona. A few of these received a face lift during the 1940s and 1950s in an attempt to hide their age much as an elderly matron will dye her hair a silver blue and apply make up like Spackle in a valiant effort to hide the years.
The few that have been given a new lease on life stand in stark contrast to the abandoned places with empty windows, dark interiors, or weed strewn vacant lots. Adding to the surreal atmosphere of the Kingman historic district where the past and present flow together seamlessly are events such as the Route 66 Fun Run and Chillin on Beale Street that fill the streets with glittering chrome, crowds, and life.
In recent years annual events have given way to monthly events and on occasion, weekly ones that hint a rebirth may be soon at hand. In the weeks to come the historic district serve as center stage for a salute to the automotive orphan at the July 17 edition of Chillin’ on Beale Street and a Dutch Route 66 tour group.
In August it will be a parade of vintage micro cars as they roll east for a convention in Chicago and a salute to Mopar at the August Chillin’ on Beale Street with an Australian tour group in attendance. For September plans are under way for a Route 66 film fest and an even larger version of Chillin’ on Beale Street.
Route 66 is now a larger than life icon, a new chapter in great mythology. Kingman, like many communities along iconic Route 66, is rising as did the mythical Phoenix, and the old highway is fast becoming an American version of Mount Olympus.
by jimhinckleysamerica | Jul 6, 2010 | Uncategorized
I have always been fascinated with the independent thinkers, those creative individuals that ever so carefully walk the fine line between eccentricity and visionary genius. That is one reason I derive such enjoyment from the writing of a monthly column aptly titled The Independent Thinker for Cars & Parts magazine.
Perhaps that is at the heart of why I find Route 66 in all its manifestations so fascinating. From its inception the highway was a bland, cold entity, a tool sort of like a hammer or saw. It was and is the people that make it unique, that give it character and depth.
I am intrigued by the type of thinking that would lead an individual to build a complex of concrete teepees in the heart of Indian country and misname it the Wigwam Motel. I marvel at the people who will traverse miles of forbidding desert on a rutted trail of broken asphalt just to experience a decrepit bridge and a crumbling adobe structure with a faded sign proclaiming curios for sale on the side.
In part, some of this fascination is in the sense of comfort that comes from knowing I am not the only one crazy enough to trek across the desert on broken asphalt to see an old bridge or to stand in the shade of the crumbling Painted Desert Trading Post and call it a vacation. It is refreshing to know that I am not the only one that entertains thoughts of building a huge golf ball in the desert or filling my office with dented, rusty hubcaps!
On our last odyssey along the old double six there was ample time to meditate on these thoughts as we strolled the quiet streets of Texola and watched the wind make dry leaves dance among the ruins in Endee. It was this meditation that solidified a thought that has long been percolating in my mind – in a nut shell this is why I enjoy Route 66.
There is something almost magical about this old highway. It has the ability to unleash the inner child in the most mature adult and stir the spirit of eccentricity in the most rational.
I am who I am, an eccentric dreamer with the soul of poet, because of a near life long immersion in the fairy dust that clings to the old asphalt and that swirls around the tires. I hold a job and am a productive member of society but my heart is out there on the cracked asphalt, that wonderland where the pie is fresh and warm, the conversation even warmer, and the faded neon on the horizon is as a light house beacon under a starless night on a stormy sea.
Would anyone else like to confess that they too are addicted to the magic that is only found on a highway signed with two sixes?
by jimhinckleysamerica | Jul 4, 2010 | Uncategorized
Those who follow this blog on regular basis may have noticed the mood has been one of reflection this past few days. As this is the Fourth of July that reflection has taken on a deeper, more somber tone.
It is my sincere hope and prayer that as you celebrate this illustrious holiday with family and friends there will be time for reflection on just how amazing and rare this experiment in self government is. In spite of our warts and blemishes, in spite of of our less than stellar history in regards to slavery and to genocidal policies toward the native people, we are still a nation that talks of building walls to stem the tide of immigrants rather than building walls to keep the people from fleeing.
With all due respect, regardless of race or creed, I sincerely ask that on this auspicious holiday thought be given to these words from Chief Justice Earl Warren. “I believe no one can read the history of our country without realizing the Good Book and the Spirit of the Savior have from the beginning been our guiding geniuses…Whether we look to the First Charter of Virginia, or to the Charter of New England, of to the Charter of Massachusetts bay, or the Fundamental Orders of Connecticut. The same object is present, a Christian land governed by Christian principles. I believe the entire Bill of Rights came into being because of the knowledge our forefathers had of the Bible and their belief in it; freedom of belief, of expression, of assembly, of petition, the dignity of the individual, the sanctity of the home, equal justice under the law, and the reservation of powers to the people. I like to believe we are living today in the spirit of the Christian religion. I like also to believe that as long as we do so, no great harm can come to our country.”
Have a wonderful holiday. http://rcm.amazon.com/e/cm?t=1968adventurer&o=1&p=8&l=bpl&asins=141657588X&fc1=000000&IS2=1<1=_blank&m=amazon&lc1=0000FF&bc1=000000&bg1=FFFFFF&f=ifr
In closing I leave you with these suggestions for discovering, or rediscovering, what makes this nation the most amazing republic in the history of mankind. http://rcm.amazon.com/e/cm?t=1968adventurer&o=1&p=8&l=bpl&asins=1932225633&fc1=000000&IS2=1<1=_blank&m=amazon&lc1=0000FF&bc1=000000&bg1=FFFFFF&f=ifr
by jimhinckleysamerica | Jul 3, 2010 | Uncategorized
All stops have been pulled in the effort to line Beale Street from end to end with vehicles at the July edition of Chillin on Beale Street. The thought of this street being transformed into a veritable parade of automotive history with glistening chrome, garish paint schemes, and desert patina on vintage trucks, the sidewalks bustling with people, and the recent spate of reflection on Kingman as it was has unleashed a torrent of memories.
The stretch of the pre 1952 alignment of Route 66 from Kingman to Oatman, as well as Boundary Cone Road to Fort Mohave and Silver Creek Road to Bullhead City, were my stomping grounds for a number of years during the late sixties and then again during the mid 1970s. During these years nobody went to Oatman unless they lived there and with the exception of the occasional lost soul, or those crazy enough to live in the vast desert of the Sacramento Valley nobody drove old ’66 on purpose. The section of the old highway between McConnico (Crazy Fred’s Truck Stop) and Oatman was pretty quiet.
The town itself had changed little from the period immediately after the bypass of 1952 when I started poking around there. It was largely a ghost town with a population of around fifty and the hotel bar/restaurant was the most lively place in town.
Even as late as the 1970s things were pretty quiet in Oatman. I made the mistake of letting boredom lead me to drive to Oatman for dinner one night after work and ended up with a bag of cheese puffs from the bar that were old enough to have been rejected by Clark Gable and Carol Lombard because the restaurant owner had decided to close for a few days to go fishing.
I am glad the tourist have kept the old town alive even though it meant trading the ghost town essence for Disneyland chic. If you want the ghost town experience without sacrificing the conveniences of the modern era, Oatman is the perfect place to while away a fun filled afternoon.
I suppose it was Goldroad that really kicked off my fascination with ghost towns. We used to picnic among the ruins when I was a kid. This was also the first place I ever explored on my own.
Most of the town had been razed during the 1940s as a result of a tax law that made it unprofitable for mining companies to leave buildings standing even if they were empty. Still, when I first ventured amongst the ruins there were all manner of remnants including portions of the old mill with a safe built into the concrete wall, and the cemetery.
The almost forgotten mining camp of Silver Creek further to the west also had a few substantial ruins worthy of exploration. Vandals, elements, and urban sprawl have now so completely erased all traces of the site I was unable to locate it when gathering material for the book, Ghost Towns of the Southwesthttp://rcm.amazon.com/e/cm?t=1968adventurer&o=1&p=8&l=bpl&asins=0760332215&fc1=000000&IS2=1<1=_blank&m=amazon&lc1=0000FF&bc1=000000&bg1=FFFFFF&f=ifr.
During these years of exploration Route 66 from the intersection of Boundary Cone Road to Golden Shores was little more than a gravel trail interspersed with broken asphalt. I once sat on a rocky knoll above the road for a full three hours watching an amazing Technicolor sunset unfold after a summer storm and never saw a vehicle. This was truly a forgotten highway.
As I explored the empty vestiges of these old mining camps it was never difficult for me to see them as boom towns filled with life, vitality, and enthused with an atmosphere of promise. I simply transposed the bustle of downtown Kingman circa 1977 onto their silent streets.
How different was a stay at the Beale Hotel during the 1970s from a stay at the Oatman Hotel in the 1920s? The street in front, Route 66, was a never ending river of traffic shadowed by false fronted facades that dated to territorial days. Everything the traveler needed was within walking distance, the sidewalks were crowded, there were no empty storefronts, and the bar downstairs where the locals gathered under the swirling fan always had cold beer to chase the desert heat from the bones.
During the mid 1970s, with the exception of the change in automotive styling made manifest in the river of traffic that flowed east and west on Route 66, I lived as a miner would in the glory days of Oatman, or countless other mining camps during the second or third decade of the twentieth century. After a shift at the mine in the old town of Stockton Hill, I would drive the long dusty road into town, wash the dust from my throat with a cold beer and unwind with a game or two of pool at the Sportsman, a dark, musty old pool room that had changed little in a half century and that has changed even less since then.
Then I would wander down Andy Devine Avenue, where the glow of neon cast colorful shadows over my battered old ’42 Chevy pick up truck, to my room at the Beale Hotel, wash the dust from my hair, don a fresh pair of jeans and clean shirt, and grab my hat. I seldom left my time capsule for dinner as the El Mohave was in the Brunswick Hotel, the Frontier Cafe was a few doors to the west, and Lockwood’s Chicken in the Rough was a short stroll to the east along Route 66.
On occasion, for the briefest of moments, Chillin’ on Beale Street and the Route 66 Fun Run seem to be windows into the world of old Kingman that I remember. If the July edition is successful, and the streets fill with automotive orphans, perhaps I will be able to stretch that moment into an evening.
