by jimhinckleysamerica | May 22, 2011 | Uncategorized
After several weeks of weather that ran the gamut from late fall to early summer, sometimes in the same day, the frustrations and pressures of the day job that supports the writing habit, the self induced pressures of laying the groundwork for the new book, Ghost Towns of Route 66http://rcm.amazon.com/e/cm?t=1968adventurer&o=1&p=8&l=bpl&asins=0760338434&fc1=000000&IS2=1<1=_blank&m=amazon&lc1=0000FF&bc1=000000&bg1=FFFFFF&f=ifr, finalizing plans for the trip to Amarillo where the kick off for the books promotional tour will begin at the International Route 66 Festival, we were well overdue for a day of adventure on Route 66. As added incentive we felt a proper send off for a friend returning home to Australia next week was in order.
So, after a relatively calm morning at the office and a quiet lunch, we packed the Jeep, topped off the tank, and headed west on Route 66 for the former ghost town of Oatman. The weather was just a bit on the warm side and the wispy clouds in the deep blue sky provided a sense of whimsy.
As this has been my stomping grounds for almost a half century, I provided Dave, our Australian friend, with the fifty cent tour on the way to Oatman. I pointed out the Oasis, an often overlooked service station and roadhouse, long a private home, that dates to the late 1930s, and the remains of the family homestead including the garage my dad and I built from lumber obtained when we razed the Episcopal church and a couple of old houses in Kingman.
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| Oatman, Arizona |
Stop one was Fish Bowl Springs with its million dollar views just below the summit of Sitgreaves Pass on the pre 1952 alignment of Route 66. As it was a warm and pleasant afternoon there was a near constant stream of traffic more reminiscent of a time when this was the main Street of America than the empty, forgotten highway I remember during the mid 1960s.
At the summit, the site of Snell’s Summit Station we again stopped to take in the spectacular views. When I first this site in about 1966, the skeletons of the visible register pumps still stood as silent sentinels on this ridge.
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| Oatman, Arizona |
Reflecting the changes in gold prices was the activity at the mine in Goldroad. The vast tailing’s are transforming the town site and erasing some of the last vestiges from a time when this was a thriving community.
Oatmans is, well, Oatman. A thin veneer of originality with a heavy overlay of cobbled together store fronts emulating what once was and a sea of tourists that clog the narrow main street providing a glimpse of what it must have been like to drive Route 66 through town in about 1930.
Without tourist towns like Oatman would most likely have vanished from the map. However, tourists, and catering to them, without a cohesive plan can erase the very historic vestiges of a community that the tourists come to see. Oatman is fast approaching that point where the original is washed away by the flood of t-shirt shops and souvenir stands.
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| Dave Gurney and Jim Hinckley at Cool Springs |
The Oatman I recall from the 1960s, and even the early 1970s, was largely an authentic ghost town with a population of around fifty. The stores were mostly empty and there were gaps along the street where buildings once stood.
The bar and restaurant at the hotel were about the only things going. Even there it was often possible to sip a beer for an hour and see no one but the bar maid.
The head frames from the old mines still cast long shadows. Many of the business still had the faded signs painted on their false fronts and one, the old Copeland Lumber building, still had a wide array of merchandise hidden behind windows encrusted with thirty years of grime.
In those years Goldroad was a sea of building shells that faced quiet streets. The old mill was a haunting concrete warren with a safe buried in a rear wall.
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| 1934 Dodge at Chillin on Beale Street |
After braving the sea of humanity and walking Oatman from end to end, we began the return trip with a stop at Cool Springs and a brief stop at the site of the Fig Springs Station. Jack Rittenhouse, in 1946, noted this facility was closed but in the mid 1960s much of the shell remained.
We ended the day with a wonderful evening at Chillin on Beale Street, a free event held on the third Saturday night of each month, April through October. As always it was a pleasant relaxed event with people lounging in beach chairs or strolling the streets to gawk and the incredibly diverse array of vehicles on display or cruising Beale Street.
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| 1960 Volvo at Chillin on Beale Street |
Even though the event is open to one and all, the organizers always have a theme and the vehicles displayed that fit in that theme receive a dash magnet commemorating the night. Last year there was topless fun on Route 66, a salute to convertibles, and an orphan show, a salute to automotive orphans.
Last night it was animal style – cars bearing animal related monikers (Impala, Cougar, Pinto, Maverick, Barracuda, etc.). As always the diversity of vehicles was nothing short of amazing – a Studebaker Hawk with original supercharged V8, low rider Nissan’s, new generation Thunderbirds, a Hudson Hornet, Model A Fords, original and street rods, vintage military Jeeps complete with twin fifty caliber machine guns, a vintage deuce and a half, a 1960 Volvo, and even a Sunbeam Alpine.
It was about as perfect a day as one could have. Of course I had the advantage of having two friends to share it with and Route 66 to set the mood.
by jimhinckleysamerica | May 19, 2011 | Uncategorized
Today’s post is a bit of shameless self promotion, a little infomercial, and a whole lot of neat stuff pertaining to Route 66. Lets start from the top down and that means another plug for the International Route 66 Festival that kicks off in Amarillo on June 9, 2011.
This event is rapidly shaping up to be the event all promoters will dream of emulating. I am quite sure this will serve as a catalyst for a tsunami of interest in Route 66 and subsequently, http://rcm.amazon.com/e/cm?t=1968adventurer&o=1&p=8&l=bpl&asins=0760338434&fc1=000000&IS2=1<1=_blank&m=amazon&lc1=0000FF&bc1=000000&bg1=FFFFFF&f=ifrthe dawning of a new era in regards to the acquisition or refurbishment of historic properties along that highway.
This event will serve as the official launching point of the promotional book tour for Ghost Towns of Route 66 but there is even bigger news. Casting a very large shadow at the event will be an author of legendary accomplishments and countless contributions toward keeping the spirit of Route 66 alive, Michael Wallis.
In addition to authors, artists, and collectors, there will be car and motorcycle shows, a banquet, a passport cruise across Texas, an evening of music under the neon of the iconic U Drop Inn in Shamrock, and a car cruise. There will be an evening of dancing at the historic Nat Ballroom with music by the Road Crew and Texas Crossroads, a bowling tournament, and even a haunted house.
A fun filled weekend celebrating America’s most famous highway will be had by one and all. I sincerely hope you will be able to attend this event which is sure to be an historic one.
For those who have businesses along Route 66, and who would like autographed copies of my new book to sell at their establishment, I can make special arrangement in regards to cost and deliver them to you in Amarillo. Please contact me for details and remember, I will need at least ten days notice to ensure the books will be available in Amarillo.
The next item on the list is also for those with businesses along the Main Street of America. John and Judy Springs are taking legendary Route 66 into the modern era with a passion and the result is a phenomenal advertisement and promotional opportunity. You can check out their publication, the very first of its kind at 66 The Mother Road.
I have been assured that in future issues a number of acclaimed authors will be contributing material. This means a rapid increase in popularity among fans of the legendary double six, which in turn means tremendous value for your advertising dollar and international exposure for your business.
For those who plan to motor west, or east, on Route 66 this summer you might want to pencil this into your schedule. On the third Saturday evening of each month, April through October, the historic district in Kingman, Arizona comes alive with a free event, Chillin on Beale Street, that features everything you need to enjoy an evening under a desert sky. The May event is scheduled for this Saturday evening.
At the end of summer last year I initiated a program to assist businesses along the highway while transforming my office/unofficial Route 66 visitor center/museum of automotive advertisement in the rental office at Martin Swanty Chrysler in Kingman. I am hoping to greatly expand on this during the summer of 2011 and would also like to note that this dealership can handle any service needs you may have while traveling on Route 66.
If you have brochures or promotional materials for your event, museum, or business, please send them to me and I will add them to the expanding offerings in our free literature/travel planning rack. Currently I have material from the Wigwam Motel in Rialto, Afton Station, the Route 66 Museum in Barstow, and others.
In addition, there are signed copies of books I have written, a wide array of Kingman area tourism information, free Kingman post cards, and free post cards featuring the photography of yours truly. We also have official Arizona highway maps and, dependant on available supply, free passes to Kingman museums.
As a bonus, if you are traveling with a group and need assistance in planning a visit to the Kingman area please let me know. I can assist in that area as well by tailoring something special to your needs.
A great way to keep up to date with events in the Kingman area, check out the Destination Kingman page on Facebook. Even better, become a fan.
To keep up with events, and news, all along the highway there is but one stop in cycberspace, Route 66 News. This site is updated daily.
Let the good times roll!
by jimhinckleysamerica | May 18, 2011 | Uncategorized
My ’68 Galaxie was a pretty dependable old car and even the bottle green paint still had a deep shine. I really think that was the problem, I am quite sure that is what led me to sell it and use the proceeds to purchase and breathe new life into the 1954 Dodge truck.
See, I seem to have an addiction for rust. The idea of spending a valuable day off washing and waxing seems unnatural. The near constant worry about scratches and parking lot dings just seems so unnecessary.
It all started on a quiet, warm summer evening. My buddy was diligently minding the steaks on the grill, the smoke wafted on a gentle breeze, and the gunfighter ballads by Marty Robbins served as back ground music for a near perfect night.
With my back against the porch rail, I sipped a cold beer and watched the sun sink into the west behind the buttes and mesas that make Kingman’s skyline one of the most unique in the country. Picking up the paper and turning toward the classified advertisement section was one of those actions we do without thought.
The light was fast fading but enough remained for me to see the ad that began with, “Rusty, trusty 1954 Dodge for sale.” In an instant my lethargic mind went crystal clear and I flipped on the porch light to read more.
“6 cylinder engine, 4 speed transmission, most glass good, $50.00.” There was no phone number, just an end note that read, “Stop at the Valentine post office and ask for directions to the Copper Giant mine.”
Now, I knew where Valentine was and I even knew the post mistress. I knew the country fairly well in that part of Arizona having worked for the Cedar Springs Ranch, the X Bar 1, and the Crozier Canyon spread but I had never heard of the Copper Giant mine.
My buddy was always a sucker for adventure and before the last of the steak dinner had left his plate, I had him convinced we needed a small road trip the following morning. Without prompting the deal got even sweeter when he offered to split the cost of fuel.
Well, as was our custom, we tossed an ice chest with assorted drinks and sandwiches into the back of his ’56 Ford, added his black lab, and were headed east on Route 66 as the faint pink light of morning began to chase the shadows across the valley. I wasn’t really worried about the post office being open as the post mistress lived on site and often had coffee ready to go by sunrise.
Over a cup of thick black coffee she sketched out some directions and as an after thought, told us to be careful in a worried sort of voice. We topped off the gas tank and backtracked to Hackberry before turning south on the road to Wickieup that runs past the X Bar 1.
After about ten miles we realized we must have missed the turn so we retraced our tracks until we found the landmark scrub oak that shaded the small pyramid of beer cans, and headed into the mountains. Somewhere around mile post six the road became a goat trail and at some point around mile post twenty, after the third stop to roll rocks out of the way or to build a stone ramp to clear a washout, we began to rethink our plans.
Serious discussion about heading home commenced when we got stuck in the sand wash but there was nowhere to turn around so we pressed on to the top of the ridge. Before turning tail and heading back, I climbed a rock and with my binoculars followed the road/trail down the mountain, across the little valley up into the canyon on the far side where I caught the hint of mine tailing’s, then spotted a stone cabin on the ridge above, and that was when I noticed a fellow was watching me – through the scope of a rifle.
Now an orderly retreat back down the mountain would have been the prudent, sensible thing to do but sensible was just not something I was familiar with at that point in my life. So, with fists clenched white knuckle tight on the steering wheel, Doug bounced over the rocks on the descent into the valley.
Well, we had just rounded a slight bend into the canyon when we first encountered the mine caretaker and owner of the aforementioned Dodge truck. It was painfully obvious that he and his clothes were strangers to soap and water, and just as obvious he really didn’t take kindly to visitors.
I am quite certain that failure to provide the correct answer to questions asked could have resulted in a case of high velocity lead poisoning and a long nap in a mine shaft. The look in those crazy eyes told me we caught him by surprise when I stepped from the Ford, stretched my hand toward him, and said with a smile, “we are here about the Dodge.” I then ensured our safety with the offer of a cold beer even though it was only around noon.
I really wasn’t surprised to hear we were the first ones to respond to his advertisement. However, I was a bit surprised to hear him say that he was giving second thought to selling even though he had purchased it new in 1954.
Well, we walked up to the cabin and as we started down into the hollow on the other side, I spotted the Dodge nestled under a towering old cottonwood tree. A big ram with full curl was perched proudly on the top of the badly dented cab, the front fender was as shiny as a new quarter from years of horses rubbing on it, and it seemed to have a big chrome smile, courtesy of the Studebaker Lark grill transplant.
The tires had gone from flat to rotten at least a decade before I got there. The passenger side door was in the back of the bed, something that made it easier for the dog to get in and out of the cab but not something that was conducive to preserving the interior.
Some people bring home battered old stray cats and dogs. I bring home battered old stray trucks. However, sometimes it is more humane to put the animal down and on occasion old trucks are just about as far gone.
This old Dodge seemed to fit nicely in the latter category and as the owner talked, I began forming a plan of retreat. Then things took a very serious turn toward the land of Rod Serling and the Twilight Zone (cue the music).
The owner looked right at me and said, “You can’t sell a truck if it don’t run. If it don’t run people will think its just a pile of junk.”
Then he pulled the drivers door open, drug the mangy dog off the seat, and slid into the cab. With a deft move his claw like hand with the nicotine yellow nails dipped into his shirt pocket and pulled out a rusty nail. “I lost the key but she will start with a nail.”
Without hesitation or another word he slipped the nail into the ignition, turned it on, pumped the gas a couple of times, pulled on the choke knob, and planted his foot on the starter pedal. The tell tale tick of a flat head six and the faintest hint of blue smoke that emanated from the various holes in the exhaust pipe were the only sign that the truck was running.
Now if Dolly Parton, naked as a jaybird, had come dancing over the hill with an equally naked President Carter on her arm to the tune of bagpipes we couldn’t have have more surprised. I bet the look on our face was worth a million dollars.
The owner told us he had bought a new battery, cleaned out the gas tank, added about ten gallons of fuel, rebuilt the master cylinder and wheel cylinders, and rebuilt the carburetor when he ran the ad. “You just can’t sell something if it don’t run.”
Our surreal little adventure didn’t end there. As it turned out he had four good used tires and tubes back at the cabin that were also part of the deal.
Well the old dog had risen in status from a three legged mutt with one eye, heart worms, and mange, to a three legged dog with mange. In my book that was a keeper.
So, we whiled away the rest of the afternoon by digging out enough room to get a jack under the axle at each wheel, and replacing the petrified tires with the new used tires and tubes. As it turned out he had a big compressor mounted in an old Ford frame that was powered by a Model A engine.
With the worn, tattered, and greasy title in my pocket, and the wallet fifty dollars lighter, we shook hands and started on the journey home. As it turned out there was another road to the mine so the journey back to the pavement and the real world was little more than a twenty five mile journey through a sand wash and over a rocky ridge.
Well, I couldn’t afford the luxury of insuring two vehicles and didn’t have the money to resurrect the Dodge, so the Ford and I parted ways. As it turned out that old Dodge proved to be a pretty dependable work horse, after an investment of a fun hundred dollars and some skinned knuckles.
On occasion the old Dodge still turns up on the streets of Kingman. A succession of owners, and a succession of colors mask its identity but the Studebaker grill remains its trademark.
by jimhinckleysamerica | May 17, 2011 | Uncategorized
I am always amazed what can be thought of once we move beyond convention or tradition and unleash the creative mind. As an example, how do you promote a car show even if it is on Route 66? After all, there are dozens every year in most every town along the route from Chicago to Santa Monica.
Well, it would seem the creative imagination behind the free Chillin’ on Beale Street held in Kingman, Arizona on the third Saturday night of each month, from April until October, has some ideas on that subject. A case in point is the event scheduled for next Saturday.
Even though the event is open to anything and everything with wheels it was decided last season to add some flair with a different theme each month. Some were, to say the very least, original.
My personal favorite was Going Topless on Route 66, a salute to the American convertible. It was most definitely an idea that caught peoples attention.
Ideas being tossed about this season include Mother Truckers, a salute to trucks and the women who drive them, an all Volkswagon Octoberfest, and another rendition of orphans on Route 66, homage to the great automotive orphans such as Studebaker, Plymouth, Packard, Oldsmobile, Nash, and Hudson.
The event is just one of the many things that make Kingman a unique place to visit, or live. Consider this, during the months of winter, deep snows are often just a dozen miles away even if your enjoying the sunshine in your shirt sleeves. For the flip side when the folks along the river are basting in their own juices with temperatures often exceeding 120 degrees, and the folks in Kingman are slowly turning to jerky with temperatures around the century mark, cool, pine scented breezes are just twelve miles away.
This little island in a sea of desert is Hualapai Mountain Park. Fine dining, hiking trails, and cabin rentals are just a few of the surprises found there.
Kingman is where the past and future intersect. It is also close to everything even though it is in the middle of nowhere.
Las Vegas is 100 miles to the north. The beach, on the other side of the traffic nightmare of the Los Angeles metropolitan area, is just over 350 miles to the west. Phoenix is 180 miles to the south, Albuquerque is 480 miles to the east.
For those who zip through town, even on Route 66, looks can be very deceiving. Between the monuments to the generic world on both ends of town, and the dusty, tumble down look of the historic district, there are a staggering array of treasures, surprises, and hidden gems awaiting discovery.
The Grand Canyon is less than one hundred miles to the north. At the city limits there are miles of beautiful trails that twist and turn through the towering stone monoliths that give Kingman its one of a kind skyline.
A ghost town for every age and taste is just a short drive away. There is the now forgotten town of Cerbat for those in search of adventure and fine food with excellent music in the now quiet town of Chloride, and the ghost town of the imagination at Oatman.
If you feel charitable toward millionaires and money is burning a hole in your pocket, the world class resort community of Laughin is just thirty miles away, fifty if you follow Route 66 through Oatman.
For those in search of something different for their vacation this year my suggestion is Kingman. You might just decide to make it a lifelong vacation.
by jimhinckleysamerica | May 16, 2011 | Uncategorized
“Today Route 66 is America’s “Suckers” highway – as commercialized as Broadway, as vulgar as Miami Beach, and as phony as Sunset Boulevard.” I draw solace in little historical tidbits such as this quote of a British journalist recorded in the Albuquerque Journal, on August 27, 1955.
See, I have never been a fan of fads. My attire is just about the same today as it was forty years ago. My views on vehicle ownership remain unchanged and for the most part, the foundation for my political reviews remains unaltered and solid.
So, it would be safe to assume, with this article and the current views on Route 66 as a basis, that if I continue my trend of being out of style I will be the most stylish, modern man around in the very near future. After all, the things that disgusted this journalist more than a half century ago are just what people are looking for today.
“Along it every summer stream a million naive American tourists in enormous pastel colored automobiles. From the moment they enter Indian county – so romantically described in the enticing travel folders – the raid on their bulging wallets begins.”
“For hundreds of miles the road is lined with sham Indian “trading posts” and neon lit motels built like wigwams and cowboy bunk houses. Garages and cafes operate Wild West museums as profitable sidelines with “Guns that Made Western History” and real live rattlesnakes to attract guiless tourists.”
As I delve into the history of America’s most famous highway for the ongoing Route 66 encyclopedia project there is a never ending sense of wonder about how time changes perspectives. Did you know that in 1912 there was a push by “progressive” citizens to get electric cars off the street?
There is a certain irony in the fact we now seek vestiges of Route 66 once considered tawdry and lament the loss of places deemed irrelevant less than a couple of decades ago. Changing times.
The ’57 Chevy is the Holy Grail of automobile ownership but when new, dealers lamented the warmed over body style and blamed it for the mass exodous to the stylish new Ford. When was the last time you saw a ’57 Ford?
Changing times make for interesting times and these are some of the most intersting times I can imagine.
